


Sweet Sinful Revenge

by EarthAngelGirl30



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha Loki (Marvel), Alternate Universe - Loki Wins, Angry Sex, Avenger Loki (Marvel), Awesome Natasha Romanov, BAMF Natasha Romanov, Black Widow - Freeform, Blackfrost - Freeform, Breaking Celibacy Vows, Dom Loki (Marvel), Don't Judge, Don't Like Don't Read, Erotica, Eventual Romance, F/M, First Time Blow Jobs, Frenemies, From Sex to Love, Light Bondage, Loss of Virginity, Lust, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mild Kink, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mind Games, Natasha Romanov Has Issues, Natasha Romanov Is Not A Robot, Non-Consensual Bondage, Oral Sex, POV Loki (Marvel), POV Natasha Romanov, Porn With Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Revenge, Revenge Sex, Rough Sex, Seduction, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-04-08 09:13:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19104118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EarthAngelGirl30/pseuds/EarthAngelGirl30
Summary: After having stolen the Tesseract, Loki finds himself in the most unlikeliest of situations as a result of a time-slip.By a bizarre twist of fate, whilst he doesn't recognise where he is, he does recognise a particular person....Having graduated from the Red Room, a young Natasha Romanoff is working for the KGB and on a mission. Her focus should be solely on her intended target, but a charismatic, mysterious stranger unexpectedly captures her attention.She does not know him, even if he knows her, and he can't resist the tempting opportunity to seek vengeance for her having manipulated him during his incarceration by S.H. I. E. l. D, even though her younger self is oblivious to the reasons for his secret vendetta.Mind games and seduction ensues, as Loki pursues the formidable Black Widow, his mind hell-bent on revenge of the most intimate, cruelest kind.





	1. Chapter 1

The tall man in the beautiful bespoke suit looked decidedly out of place on the crowded beach.

All around him, semi-naked people -- pathetic humans -- lay or sat reclining on sun loungers, their glowing, tanned skin glistening in the mid-afternoon sun. 

He had absolutely no idea where in the world he was -- or more to the point 'when' he was -- as he could sense something was distinctly amiss.

The Tesseract felt decidedly different. As if it had somehow been influenced by forces that he had never felt before. Space-travel was just one of this Infinity Stones' many uses, but as for interdimensional time travel....well, that was certainly something he'd never experienced before during his dealings with the Tesseract.  
He wouldn't have considered it being possible before. But the longer he thought about it, his articulate mind working on overdrive, the more he was convinced that all could not have been as it seemed back at Stark's Tower.

Something, or more likely, someone, had come into contact with the Stone and they had been from another dimension or time.

Only that could explain why when he'd used it to open a portal to flee, he had ended up here. 

In a different time.

To his dismay, he was still on Midgard, having not given much thought to where he would've preferred to teleport to. His departure had been somewhat rushed after all. But as he'd travelled through space, he had been overcome with the strange sensation of travelling through time as well, and whilst he wasn't all that well acquainted with such an insignificant realm as Midgard, he felt certain this was no longer 2012.

His brow creased as his clever eyes swept his surroundings. This couldn't be the future. Surely even such a primitive, backward race would've evolved further than this?  
The automobile vehicles he had passed as he'd crossed over the road, appeared outdated. Older than the ones he had seen during his time in Stuttgart and New York.

And this definitely wasn't America. That much he could tell. The distressed exclamations of the locals he'd startled upon his sudden 'arrival' had been in a foreign language. A language he'd heard various passers-by speaking, as he'd cautiously made his way along the side street, hastily casting an illusion over his leather armour in order to 'blend in' to some extent.

But he wasn't doing a very good job of blending in now. Nor did he want to. He may now be a wanted war criminal on the run, but he was still Royalty. A superior being, and he would not stoop to transforming his attire into beach-wear. The very thought of it was repugnant to him.  
Indeed, having to mingle amongst sweaty, underdressed mortals was repugnant to him and he would have avoided such a place at all costs had it not been for her.

He was convinced it was her.

Agent Romanoff.

What were the chances? The likelihood of travelling back in time and stumbling upon one of his new foes from the present day seemed impossible.

Yet, there she was. Making her way along the white sand, clad in a simple black bathing suit, the sunlight enhancing the coppery tones of her auburn hair.

Loki had merely been taking-in his new surroundings when his keen eyes had spotted her, emerging from the crystal-blue ocean much like one of the tempting but deadly sirens of ancient legend.

He had doubted himself at first, thinking perhaps the blistering heat of the sun or interdimensional travel had effected his mind.  
Then he considered the possibility of it being someone who simply looked like her. A doppelgänger perhaps.

But no, his instincts told him it was 'the' Agent Romanoff, and now his curiosity had been piqued he endeavoured to find out.

He had to find out.

The need to find out was almost maddening.  
Why that was, he wasn't entirely sure.  
But find out he would. 

She'd made her way over to a sun lounger now, where she retrieved a glass containing a clear liquid, and stood sipping it from a straw, looking almost causal to the untrained eye. 

But Loki knew better. As he slowly edged his way in her direction, his polished leather shoes annoyingly gathering a dusting of sand, he saw the way her eyes combed the area, eventually coming to rest on an older-looking man with thinning hair and what Loki could only describe as a hideously rotund gut.

Her interest in such a man surprised him a little, as she carefully started towards him.  
But whatever her business was with the oily oaf, mattered not to him. All he wanted was to discover for himself if she was who he thought she was.  
So, acting quickly, he hastened forwards deliberately colliding into her, as though it were a complete accident.

She had been so fixated on the other man, she hadn't perceived Loki's quick yet stealthy approach, so as he carelessly -- and rather roughly -- bumped her shoulder with his, she let out a startled little yelp.

Her surprise was quickly replaced by irritation though, as she responded with a curt, "Hey! Watch it!"

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry." He said with convincing sincerity. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"Obviously." She retorted, in the same slightly-cool and emotionless tone that was eerily familiar to him.

She looked down at her now-empty glass, the contents having been spilled onto the sand and herself.  
His eyes followed her gaze then fleetingly came to rest on her bare thighs, where they lingered against his own will. But then he realised she was now looking up at him, so he quickly checked himself and flashed his most dazzling smile.

"Oh dear. I appear to have spilt your drink. How clumsy of me. Allow me to get you another--"

"No, that's not necessary." She said dismissively, craning her neck to look around him to where the older man still sat in the shade of a large parasol.

He was now rubbing himself down with some type of oil, a ghastly sight by all accounts, and Loki had to refrain from openly grimacing.

"Please, permit me to replace your drink. What sort of gentleman would I be if I didn't?"  He persisted, his smile increasing and self-assured.

But she shook her head and replied disinterestedly. "I've told you it really isn't necessary. I'm sorry if that offends your masculine pride, but that really isn't my problem."

His smile fell from his face, his features flexing slightly with irrepressible annoyance.  
How dare she disregard him so dismissively and refuse such a genial offer.  
Loki was not accustomed to being snubbed.  
Even in the short time of being the Avengers prisoner, he'd found their lack of propriety towards him intolerable. Unaccustomed to such mistreatment, he'd naturally been incensed by it.  
He might've been a prisoner, but he was still a prince.

Now as he found himself watching her walk away, resentment rising in his chest, mingling with barely-contained anger, his thoughts began spiralling in the direction of revenge.

"Offend me you have." He muttered under his breath, a twisted smirk curling his thin lips. "And it most definitely will be your problem, and you shall be sorry....Agent Romanoff."


	2. Chapter 2

The heat was stifling, the temperature and humidity reaching unbearable proportions as the day wore on. But in spite of his discomfort, Loki would not let the object of his resentment out of his line of sight.

Thirty minutes into his vigil, he loosened his tie and opened the top two buttons of his shirt. By the time an hour had passed he was forced to remove his suit jacket, and then some forty minutes later he reluctantly had to resort to rolling up his shirt sleeves.  
He disliked having to do so. In his opinion, one ought to always be properly dressed.

Fortunately he did not have to do anything so drastic and unbecoming as shed  his shirt altogether and go bare chested like the majority of the other men, because finally -- and thankfully -- the young Agent Romanoff rose from where she'd been casually reclining next to her unlikely companion, and headed off back down the beach.

"About time." He muttered to himself, reluctantly leaving the shade afforded by one of the large sun parasols that hadn't already been commandeered. But before he did so, he quickly cloaked himself using his magic. He wasn't taking any chances of her detecting him following.

He had toyed with the idea of making himself invisible earlier and sneaking up on her and the man she had spent so much time unashamedly flirting with. Watching the usually poker-faced young woman laughing so heartily as the pair shared some private joke, had fascinated Loki. The way she inclined her head towards his, their bodies positioned at intimately close quarters suggested a familiarity of acquaintance and implied they were making more than just polite conversation.  
She had brazenly massaged oil into his hairy shoulders, which both appalled and intrigued Loki in equal measures.

Surely to goodness the flirtation couldn't be genuine.  
He wasn't naive enough to believe that it was.  
But she certainly played the part well.

In the end the only thing that stopped Loki from casting his invisibility spell and eavesdropping, was the sand. Although the beach was crowded and Agent Romanoff otherwise engaged, he wasn't willing to risk leaving footprints for fear of them being noticed.  
But now he no longer gave a damn. He was hot, tired and growing increasingly cranky. To hell with the consequences of any of these ridiculous mortals noticing shoe imprints being left by an invisible entity. They were all so dull-witted, they probably wouldn't even perceive such an anomaly.

He stalked her back along the shore until the beach gave way to sandy pathways and a built-up area. They made their way through the  grounds, passed the opulent beach hotel to what was signposted as the presidential section of the resort.  
She came to a stop in front of the small bungalows that lined the Northern part of the beach, and reached into the top of her bathing suit.

Loki watched with amused interest as she fumbled for a second before pulling out a keycard. The thought of her keeping such a thing tucked inside her cleavage almost made him want to laugh. 

However, any thoughts of laughter were immediately quashed when she successfully unlocked the door and was suddenly inside before he'd been able to dash in after her.

He uttered a string of expletives, irrational frustration consuming him.  
At that moment he heard approaching footsteps, and turned to see a young man dressed in red shorts and a gleaming white T.shirt come around the corner.  
Loki's keen eyes fell on the name badge pinned to his chest, confirming that he was a member of staff at the resort.

He wasted no time in letting the invisibility spell melt away, and called out to the hapless young man, displaying his trademark aristocrat authority.

"Boy! The lady that occupies this bungalow, what is her name?".

The cabana boy started, whirling around to face the speaker who's tone was so peremptory he felt he daren't refuse his somewhat unreasonable demand. "I...I'm sorry sir, I don't know."

"Then you are obliged to assist me by finding out." Loki barked impatiently. "You are in service here are you not?"

The young man blinked, his eyes downcast due to his inability to comply. "We're not allowed to disclose that sort of information, sir. It would go against hotel regulations. The privacy of our guests--"

He fell silent as Loki drew menacingly towards him, domineering him with his height. Dressed from head-to toe in sobering black, Loki cut an imposing figure, and he was well aware of the way in which the youngster shrank back from him, visibly intimidated.

"Your wage here is no doubt a meagre pittance." Loki ventured, tilting his head in an enquiring way. In his experience, very few Asgardians were immune to bribery and humans were no different. With a subtle flick of the wrist, he conjured a wad of Midgardian banknotes -- American dollars of course, as so far that had been the only currency he had handled -- and he forcibly pressed them into the cabana boys' clammy hand. 

"Sir! I cannot break company rules....this is unethical. I could...I could lose my job." He protested half-heartedly, though he wasn't able to resist looking down at the cash longingly.

"Defy me and you risk losing much more than that." Loki warned, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Forget the name. Well hers at any rate. Tell me this, have you seen her in the company of an older man? Overweight, balding. Ruddy countenance. An oaf by his carriage."

The cabana boy looked taken-aback by Loki's unflattering description of the guest he'd just described, but the spark of recognition was evident on his bewildered face. "Y-yes I've seen the gentleman."

"Who is he? Did they arrive together?"

"No, the lady arrived just yesterday. They dined together in the hotel restaurant last night. He's been here for some time, on business I think. But I'm afraid I don't know who he is."

"Find out and I will make it worth your while." Loki said persuasively, with a hint of danger in his voice. There was an art to being covertly threatening, and Loki had mastered it. Indeed it was a natural talent he possessed.

Reluctantly, the young man pocketed the money and nodded grimly. "I'll see what I can do for you, sir. What room can I find you in?" 

"That isn't necessary, boy. Rest assured, I will find you." He replied ominously. 

He then gave a dismissive gesture with his elegant hand, waving the boy away.

Recognising that he was being 'dismissed' he left, confused, darting apprehensive looks back at Loki over his shoulder as he stumbled off down the pathway.

Now alone again and filled with renewed determination, Loki cloaked himself once more and made his way over to the bungalow door. He focused all his energy and concentrated hard on the lock, using his power to manipulate the locking device.  
A flicker of green light emanated from his invisible hand, and the mechanism gave a satisfying click. Grasping the handle carefully, he listened for a moment, then cautiously opened the door.

There was no sign of Agent Romanoff in the small room, but the sound of running water hitting tiled walls filtered in from what appeared to be the bathroom, which lay beyond another closed door.  
He instantly set about searching, his mind fixed on finding confirmation that she was who he felt sure she was. The bedside drawers were empty, but leaning down on his haunches he felt around beneath the bed until he triumphantly grasped a leather purse.

Females could be so predictable at times. It was almost too easy.

Hastily he opened it, finding only her wallet contained within. There was no top secret documents, nothing that shed any light on who the mystery man was she'd been spending so much time with. But he refused to believe it was a romantic attachment.

Opening the wallet, his fingers pulled at the various Identity cards that were stuffed into the small compartment. Sliding each one out, his eyes darted back and forth over the photographs on each one, and the names...

Natalia Romanoff

Natasha Romanov

Natalie Rushman

The hair was notably different in each image, just as the name differed.  
But the face was the same.  
A younger, ever so more slightly fresher-faced, Agent Romanoff.

He felt a mixture of malicious satisfaction and consternation. Having confirmed his suspicions, he was now feeling decidedly disconcerted.  
What an ironic twist of fate it was. He had wound up in a place -- a time -- that had led back to her. The insolent mortal who had manipulated him, beating him at his own game.  
A worthy adversary she was indeed, but he was master of this game.  
If the fates had somehow conspired against him to bring him here, then he would use it to his advantage. 

Miss Romanoff would pay the price for her insolence, deceit and trickery.

Nobody made a fool of Loki of Asgard. 

She would not get the better of him again, and using whatever subterfuge he must, he swore an oath on everything he held sacred -- which granted, wasn't much, Loki treasured only his magic, his books, and his mother -- but he swore he would be avenged.

Suddenly the sound of the shower being turned off, pulled his attention back to the present. He stuffed the I.D cards back exactly in the order they had been, and replaced the purse where he'd found it.

He was still crouching down beside the bed as the bathroom door opened, and the glistening figure of Miss Romanoff entered the room shrouded in a waft of scented steam.

He remained completely still, though he suddenly doubted his ability to move even if he'd wished to. His traitorous gaze was drawn to her petite body and the obscenely small white towel that clung to it, mercilessly accentuating her curvaceous figure.

She moved about the small room purposefully, rubbing at her wet hair with another towel, whilst intermittently pulling clothes from a closet and tossing them onto the bed carelessly. 

There was a graceful strength about her, though he was loathed to acknowledge it. And as his eyes overruled his head, they lingered appreciatively on her creamy skin, the tiny droplets of water glistening in the setting sunlight which fought it's way through the gaps in the tilted blinds which hung at the window.

To his dismay, he was aghast as he felt something stir unsettlingly inside him. His pulse quickened, his heart thudding so loudly in his chest, he fleetingly wondered if she'd be able to detect it.

In spite of himself, and to his shame and disgust, it became unforgivingly apparent that his enemy was somehow reawakening his previously dormant libido.

No, he wouldn't allow it. Anger was a suitable antidote for desire. And he had an abundance of anger, just barely suppressed beneath the surface of his calm exterior.

He wanted Miss Romanoff to suffer at his hands.

He thought of all the ways he could torture her.

Her tears as he conjured images in her head, of everything and anything she'd ever loved dying.

Her suffering as he evoked painful memories from her questionable past.

Her screaming for him to stop as he pinned her against the wall with unrestrained aggression.

His thoughts were beginning to take a much darker turn, flowing into his mind like a dark, depraved, carnal river.

Her strapped to the bed, begging him to release her, as he inflicted unspeakable acts of depravity on her.

Her ragged sobs as he gripped her perfumed throat suffocatingly while he forced himself into her.

His jaw tightened as a fierce heat began to course through his veins, making each nerve ending prickle with unnerving excitement.  
Hell. It had clearly been too long since he had a woman. Only his abstinence from sex could account for such sordid fantasies involving a mortal. A mortal who he held a grudge against too.

She stood before him, oblivious to his intrusive presence, and an involuntary sharp gust of breath left his mouth as she loosened the towel, allowing it to fall to the floor around her dainty feet, leaving her starkly naked.

A gentleman would've had the good grace to not look.  
To avert his gaze.  
And maybe just take a fleeting peep.  
But Loki wasn't one for peeping. He either took a long, hard look or didn't look at all.  
So look he did.  
No longer giving a damn for being a gentleman.  
After all, a gentleman was just a patient wolf.

He stayed exactly where he was. Anchored to the spot by undeniable, maddening lust.  
His position was gloriously convenient, affording him the most spectacular, intimate view, and his eyes took their fill. Roving over the swell of her breasts and soft peaks of her rosy nipples. Her perfectly formed, shapely rear. The seam of her toned thighs, and the enticing little patch of dark curls that crowned her sex. 

The sight drove him almost insane with desire.

She was dazzling.

He watched, transfixed, as she slipped into her delicate, black lace underwear. Then sat on the edge of the bed, gliding a pair of black stockings onto her smooth, athletic legs.

He felt the rising heat in his body surging downwards, and his trousers grew uncomfortably tight around his groin due to his state of arousal. With such temptation within his grasp, his fingers itched to reach out and touch her. To run his hands over the pillowy mounds of her breasts. 

By the Nines, what was wrong with him?

Pleasures of the flesh, whilst serving as an excellent outlet for stress, only ever created too much of a distraction, which is why Loki had refrained from engaging in carnal activity for the longest time.  
His sole purpose in life was the acquisition of power.

But Agent Romanoff was infuriatingly attractive.

She was lithe, strong and yet undeniably endowed with soft, feminine curves in that effortlessly seductive way that Loki was so fond of.  
And although she was, unfortunately, a mere mortal, her fair face and form rivalled those of any Goddess he'd ever beheld.

He clenched his teeth and attempted to regain his composure and scattered thoughts.  
Surely any hot-blooded man could not be faulted for appreciating the sight of a naked female's....assets?  
Yet he still silently reprimanded himself for permitting his primal instincts to impair his sense and reason.

She had to pay for what she had done.

He would make her pay, one way or another.

Now, he was not one to force himself on a woman without her consent.  
He was many things, but not a beast to such an extent.  
He never took a female against her will.

But he was tormented with thoughts of making her his. His quest for revenge fuelled the disturbing attraction he found himself wrestling with.  
He wanted to take possession of her delicious little body, and bend it to his will.

He wanted to bring the infamous Black Widow to her knees.

Oh yes, he would enjoy taking her.

And breaking her.

He was confident he could do so.

Having slipped into a simple, but elegant black dress, Miss Romamoff proceeded to dry her auburn hair with the noisiest hand-held contraption Loki had ever had the misfortune to be subjected to, which created such an assault on his senses it doused his ardour quite effectively.

Then she sat at the vanity table, applying makeup with expert precision.  
Her hair was shaped into the style of a chic, slanted bob, cut off sharply just below her jawline. He looked-on with silent fascination as she sculpted her face into a sultry, alluring mask. Her eyes were accentuated by the smoky hues of her eyeshadow, and slick black flicks of liner gave her an almost feline look.  
She had succeeded in transforming herself from natural beauty, to seductive temptress.

She was certainly going to a lot of effort. And it put Loki in mind of war paint.  
She was readying for battle.  
Her target, the older businessman who was yet to be identified.  
Her battle strategy, seduction.

Against his better judgement, Loki's curiosity had been piqued. Whilst he previously hadn't cared what agency she was working for, or what espionage she was currently embroiled in, now he was convinced she was going to use her feminine wiles on her intended victim.  
How far would she be willing to go to achieve her goal?  
Would she actually debase herself by bedding such a greasy, undeserving oaf?

His minds' eye was assaulted with the unwanted image of the man's fat hands groping and pawing at her. Rutting like a fat boar. His large carcass labouring over her exquisite body, as she dutifully lured him into a trap.  
Into her web.

The thought of such a sight, sickened him somewhat. An unexpected possessiveness flooded Loki's body, and a word flitted through his mind as he watched her....

 

Mine.


	3. Chapter 3

Natasha entered the small, beachside bar with an air of confident indifference. Casually making her way across to the bar whilst doing a quick scan of the dimly-lit interior.

He wasn't here yet.   
Why didn't that surprise her?  
The man in question -- Jose Comineza, was a dislikable, slimy, adulterous asshole.   
But her job was to consult with him, and then get rid of him.

Simple as that.

And he was so detestable, the dark place inside of her was actually looking forward to the part where she could get rid of him.

She had been assigned to this mission in the Dominican, having been briefed that Jose Comineza had certain information that he was willing to let seep to the U.S.   
He was an agent for a man named Fidel Castro, whose suspicions had prompted him to call upon the services of the Red Room to deal with the problem. And Natasha was more than qualified to deal with such a problem, being by far the most deadly graduate of the establishment of trained spies and assassins.

So she had gone undercover as a businesswoman vacationing at the resort, and so far her target had proved to be arrogantly oblivious to her sinister intentions. After assuming the role of 'pretty-but-lacking-intelligence' she had set about subtly manipulating the man with great ease.  
With polite, casual inquiry, and feigning admiration for Comineza's professional prowess, Natasha succeeded in tricking him into letting the intelligence slip. Now she had all the conformation she needed that he had the information. But she was shrewd enough to not kill the man outright.   
She knew what she had to do.  
Lure him into her room with the promise of sex, and then efficiently dispatch him, swiftly, cleanly and quietly.

It really should've been as easy and simple as that.

Except, she hadn't been counting on the reappearance of what was proving to be an infuriatingly thrilling distraction....

Perched on a bar stool, she pulled out a pack of cigarettes, slipped one between her ruby-red lips, and groped around inside her purse in search for a light.  
Ordinarily, Natasha did not smoke. But Comineza did, and it was this habit that had enabled her to premeditatedly initiate their first encounter.  
She had approached him in the restaurant bar the previous night and asked him for a light. So in order to keep up the pretence, it was imperative for her to be seen smoking.  
Yes. Natasha was nothing if not meticulous and dedicated.

However, before she'd found her light, suddenly as if from nowhere, a long arm reached from over her shoulder, an elegant hand appearing in front of her brandishing a lighter.  
Fleetingly she wondered if it was Comineza, but instinctively she knew that it wasn't. He wasn't a gentleman, and didn't possess the ability to pull off such a smooth move.

"Allow me." A velvety voice purred close to her ear, alarmingly causing goosebumps to rise on her skin.

Resisting the urge to swivel around on her seat, Natasha leaned-in nonchalantly and accepted the light. Only once the cigarette was lit, did she allow herself to turn her head slightly in order to take a look at the suave individual who'd miraculously appeared so close behind her.

It was him.  
The suit from the beach.

"You again." She remarked casually, her expression giving nothing away.

His mouth kicked- up slightly at the corner, his eyes resting on her with unwavering focus. "Yes. Me again. How marvellous it is for our paths to have crossed once more. One might be inclined to call it fate."

Natasha raised a deliberately sceptical eyebrow. "Well 'one' might, but I'd be more inclined to call it an eerie coincidence."

Despite her implication, to her surprise he gave a dismissive shrug of the shoulders, apparently unashamed to have been accused -- if not directly -- of orchestrating their having met again.

"I confess, I was rather hoping to see more of you." He admitted with disarming honesty, and his eyes gleamed with mirth.

Unbeknownst to Natasha, Loki was revelling in the malicious satisfaction he gleaned from having seen much, much more of her than she'd ever be aware of.   
Much more in fact, than  he'd initially intended to see.

"Oh really. And why would that be?" She asked in a bored voice, which suggested she wasn't actually the slightest bit interested. When really, she was. Extremely interested. For numerous reasons.

Firstly, the way he was dressed could indicate that he was an agent working for some rival organisation or government. Which meant there was a strong possibility that he'd been assigned to divert her, or even assassinate her.  
If that was the case then the man's ineptitude was almost laughable. He'd made no attempt to blend-in with the other holiday makers. And although this resort was frequented, and positively teeming, with businessmen, politicians and even government officials, he still stood apart from the rest.

Dark, austere, and impeccably dressed, this guy was the perfect picture of nobility. Everything about him, from the arrogant tilt of his head, to the physical confidence of his posture, bespoke generations of aristocratic breeding. As if he possessed a longer pedigree than the Queen of England herself.

So, if he wasn't a hired-assassin then he could simply be trying to hit on her. Which was, regrettably, an all too familiar occurrence for Natasha. But, she was well adept at dealing with potential suitors. Quashing their attempts with skilful ease, she always made short-work of letting them know she wasn't interested. Because she never was interested. 

Her years of training in the Red Room had prepared her for the ways of men and their sexual advances. Love was for children. Desire for the weak. Lust, the feeble-minded, because physical attraction was nothing more than a chemical reaction. A trick of the brain to fool the body into believing it craved something more than what was necessary.

The graduates of the Red Room were killing machines. That was their sole purpose in life.

So Natasha had never found it difficult, resisting temptation. Neither did she have any qualms about rejecting a man.

That is, until now.   
Now, suddenly she wasn't feeling so self-assured, which threw her completely off balance. And she didn't like it one bit.

She wasn't accustomed to finding someone so aesthetically pleasing. The mysterious stranger was not like any other man she had ever seen.

His long mane of black hair was ruthlessly brushed back from his forehead and layered so it flicked out where it rested at his shoulders. His features could be described as being somewhere between sharp and delicate. He had been blessed with high-arched cheekbones, a long imperial nose and a razor-sharp jawline.   
His eyes....his eyes were fathomless. Neither fully one shade nor the other, the lighting in the bar seemed to pick out intense filaments of topaz blue within the pale green irises.

"Am I to assume you're not adverse to us becoming better aquatinted?" He spoke again, shattering her thoughts, and she realised then to her annoyance that she'd been staring at him in silence for an inordinate length of time.

"I wouldn't go that far." She replied tersely. "I'd say that would be a bit presumptuous of you, mister....?" She rotated a hand at him in a prompting gesture, encouraging him to disclose his name.

He gave her a slow, deliberate look with a hint of arched eyebrow, which unsettlingly did peculiar things to her stomach. "You can call me Loki."

"Loki? And is that what everyone calls you, or is it just an alias you're giving me?" She challenged, which elicited a controlled burst of soft laughter from him.

"I'm sure anyone who knows me calls me a great many things, most of which are no doubt derogatory and very unflattering. But no. In actual fact, my name is Loki. And if I were going to pick an alias for myself, I would hardly have chosen a name so unique and unheard of."

Natasha regarded him with a look of unwilling, resentful admiration.  
He had made a valid point.  
Smart ass.

"Well then, Loki no-last-name, I'm flattered that you want to get to know me better, but men like you--"

"There are no men like me." He interjected coolly, flashing a devastating smile.

"Is that a fact?" She took another slow drag of her cigarette in a decadent manner, causing a plume of smoke to spiral upwards and hang between them like a fog, creating an almost sultry ambience. "That's quite a bold statement. I bet you say that to all the girls."

"On the contrary, I don't make a habit of it."

"I bet you say that too." She smirked, swivelling on the stool so that she could rest an elbow on the bar. "And it might be enough to make most women swoon. But you see, Loki, I'm not most women."

"And don't I know it." He riposted ominously, mirroring her actions by leaning against the bar. "Now might I buy you that drink now? Miss....?"

Natasha resisted the urge to decline his offer. Her curiosity overriding her keen instincts.

"You're persistent, I'll give you that." She said evenly, with a wry smile. "And it's Miss Rushman. Natalie Rushman."

"Is it indeed?" Reaching into his inside pocket, Loki hastily conjured a leather wallet containing a significant number of fresh banknotes. "And may I call you....Natalie?"

Watching him carefully, Natasha noted the substantial amount of cash he was carrying with curious interest.  
"Why not? Everyone else does." She responded dismissively.

"Do they?" He retorted quizzically, with a spark of insight. "They don't refer to you as Nat?"

Her eyes skittered from his wallet and back to his face. He seemed to register her questioning look, and feigned innocence.

"It is short for Natalie is it not? As well as...hm, Natasha?"

She nodded mechanically, whilst internally alarm-bells were ringing in her head.   
It should have been a harmless question, but it seemed multilayered. As if he was insinuating that he knew of her real identity. Which should have been impossible. In fact, it was highly improbable. But the small hairs at the nape of her neck had stood to attention. Alerting her to danger.

There was far more to this anomaly of a man than she'd anticipated. Perhaps her initial suspicions had been correct. She couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that he knew her. Which could surely only mean that he'd been sent to either spy, or kill her.

This man, Loki, possessed an exotic masculine beauty which she found most disconcerting. His fine mouth seemed to be edged with cruelty, even when he smiled.   
Natasha had a knack for being a good judge of character, and her swift, initial assessment of him had been right.  
She could not, would not, and did not trust him.  
He exuded the air of a man who was motivated solely by self-interest.   
His enigmatic smile could've been offered to a friend or an enemy with equal ease.

But in spite of her reservations, there was an interesting complexity in his eyes. He seemed like a man who was capable of anything, and he evoked in her a certain recklessness, making her feel like that is exactly what she wanted.

A barman had now come over to take their order, and a short conversation ensued regarding their choice of drink.

Once Natasha was in possession of her cocktail, she sipped from her straw and eyed Loki steadily over the rim of her glass, as he took a swig of his expensive whiskey. The atmosphere between them was silent, but volatile. Fraught with a simmering tension that bubbled away beneath the surface.

"So, what brings you to this part of the world?" She levelled a challenging look at him, surveying him closely. "Business or pleasure?"

He gave a slow smile. "My business is my pleasure." The smile transformed the stern contours of his face, banishing his natural reserve, which gave him an appeal that was a thousand times more potent than mere handsomeness.

Smooth bastard, she thought, sourly.  
But in spite of herself, she felt an odd, pleasant little chill race over her skin at his words.

The sudden sound of the door swinging open forced her to return her attention back to the bar, and she realised then with some alarm, that whilst in his company, her surroundings almost faded into non-existence. As if they were somehow the only two people in the entire world.

Which of course wasn't the case, as she was reminded with unforgiving crystal clarity, upon seeing several more guests entering, and the familiar sight of Jose Comineza among them. He immediately located her, and wasted no time in lumbering towards the bar. Swathed in ugly beige chino trousers and a badly-fitting Hawaiian shirt, the contrasts between himself and her present drinking companion couldn't possibly have been more striking.

"Listen, it's been great, but I've got to go now." She said quickly, her tone heavily laced with sarcasm, even though she found herself reluctant to leave.

"Must you?" He ventured, with a hint of disappointment. "It seems such a pity, just as we were beginning to make some interesting developments."

"We were?" She quipped, as she slid off the stool gracefully. "Well, be that as it may, I still have to go. I guess I should've mentioned I was waiting for someone. But perhaps you already knew that. Right?"

The soft lighting played lovingly over the clever angles of his face, and his eyes glittered, as if he relished her audacity. 

"Perhaps I did." His voice was gilded with amusement. "And perhaps I was hoping you might find my company more favourable than that of a witless oaf."

She tried, but failed, to suppress her laughter. "There you go being presumptuous again. You've no way of knowing that he's witless. Do you?"

"My intuition is more often than not, correct." He said, reaching out to take her small hand in his, claiming it in an almost possessive, yet surprisingly tender, grasp.

She swallowed down a sudden thickness that seemed to be clogging up her throat. His touch caused a spark of excitement to ignite low in her belly, which sent a little configuration off to all her nerve-endings. She fought to keep from perceptibly shivering as a result of the strange sensations.

"Y-yeah, well....Some of us have to work. And we're not all fortunate enough to find our business a pleasure." She riposted, with an uncharacteristic stammer.

With that she turned to walk away, when all at once his arm snaked around her waist, his hand coming to rest at her hip, and she felt his solid torso pressing against her back.

"Should you find you tire of that dullard, and wish to become more intimately aquatinted, Natalie, then you know where to find me." He had dipped his head, so that his raspy voice tickled her ear.

"Do I? Where might that be then?" She strained to steady the quiver in her voice as she hastily pulled away from him.

He extricated her from his hold, and as she threw a threatening look at him over her shoulder, he grinned at her wolfishly. "Right here."

Caught in the velvet snare of his gaze she became aware of their apparent perpetual discord evolving. What had begun as a kind of friendly challenge was now tempered with something almost erotic.

She shot him an apologetic, almost pitying, look. As if to let him know that whatever he was hoping might happen, most definitely wouldn't happen, and he'd have to go on hoping.

But worryingly, she wasn't so sure anymore. She didn't feel as if she could trust herself to be around him.

"I'll bear that in mind." She said, in her most scathing voice. "Thanks for the drink. It's been a pleasure."

She regretted her choice of words the moment they'd left her mouth, so she didn't dare cast a glance back as she made her way through the throng of people now lining the bar. 

"The pleasure will be all mine, Miss Romanoff." Loki muttered to himself, as he watched her greet her unlikely companion. And the bubble of resentment that had lodged in his chest began to dissolve a little at the thought of his sadistically sensual revenge. 

As Natasha took a seat with Comineza at one of the small tables that was tucked into the far corner of the bar, she was blissfully ignorant to Loki's sinful schemes.  
But she wasn't oblivious to his looming presence, or the silent, potential threat that he posed.

It took enormous effort on her part, to converse with the boorish Jose. To her utter annoyance, Loki had been the most engaging man she had ever met.   
She wasn't able to refrain from darting another look in his direction. Sure enough he remained true to his word, and stood leaning with one shoulder against the wall in a relaxed pose.  
He cut a commanding figure. Cultivating a manner of indolence, he would've been terrifying to the more faint-hearted.   
But Natasha was made of much sterner stuff.

His head turned and his gaze swept the bar with judgemental interest. No one was exempt from his derision. And Natasha detected that beneath the layers of silken gentility, there was a hardness. An impenetrability that could only belong to a very cold man.

Or perhaps, a very guarded one.

Either way, she knew intuitively that whatever kind of soul lurked inside that elegant, almost other-worldly, creature, she would never find out.  
He was as mystical, beautiful, and inscrutable as a sphinx.  
As slippery as a snake, as sly as a fox, and as wicked as the devil but no doubt twice as pretty.

But it wasn't her business to be concerned with the likes of a man like him, no matter how intriguing he was.  
Her business wasn't pleasure.  
And the only interest she would take in him, would be if she sensed she may be at risk from him. If he had been sent to assassinate her, or somehow foil her plans and compromise her mission.

She wouldn't permit that.

Once he'd grown bored of seemingly looking down his regal nose at the other customers, Natasha noticed his gaze settle on her again.   
Defiantly, this time she dared to hold his intrusive gaze, staring back at him with calm enquiry, and the look in his eyes became far less polite and the interest took on a vaguely predatory quality, that almost made her breath catch.

Remembering the feel of the hard, muscular body that was concealed beneath his impeccably-tailored suit, made her own body heat up against her wishes. And an elicit thought crept into her mind, and disturbingly made itself comfortable there.

If ever she were to be compromised, then this would be the man capable of it.


	4. Chapter 4

As the night wore on, Comineza became increasingly drunk and Natasha placated him with her flirtatious attentions. 

Seeing how there was more space outside, many had gathered on the sand to dance along to the music that blasted from the speakers which were situated within the bar. 

Loki regarded the revellers with quiet contempt, sneering at their human idiocy. He also looked on disdainfully as Natasha obligingly danced with Comineza, and his irrational possessiveness practically made his skin blister due to the heat of his envy.

Undeserving mortal. She was dutifully bestowing her affections on her intended victim, which seemed like such a terrible waste. Loki could be patient when circumstances called for it, but patience was not one of his virtues. And he was being pushed to the limits of his endurance. 

Natasha was well aware of being silently stalked by Loki, though she feigned ignorance. Pretending to be unaffected by the way he lurked predatorily in the shadows. He put her in mind of a lazy, but potentially lethal big cat, as he sat casually on one of the metal chairs outside the bar, idly waiting for the moment when he would strike.

But Loki liked to toy with his prey before he killed it.

As he watched her he felt the disturbing heat return to his body. The dark, carnal need which turned his usually cold blood to molten lava. His long fingers curled around the stem of his wine glass as his hungry, traitorous eyes drank-in the sight of her running her hands up and down her body with a flair of sensuality that effected him deeply.  
Miss Romanoff's feminine sexuality and utterly alluring movements caused him to absently grip the glass so tightly, it was a mere miracle that it didn't splinter in his hand.

As much as he disliked the way in which she danced with Comineza, provocatively swaying her hips against his in time with the throbbing beat of the music, he took great relish in toying with her from afar.  
Using his magic, he cloaked himself then created two duplicates and had them wander around the periphery where the revellers danced. Taking care to have them positioned on opposite sides, one would appear, silently watching her, casting her sultry glances, then just when she made a point of looking away, a few moments later she would see the other, watching her from a different angle, flashing her a wicked, half-smile.

As much as Natasha tried to not notice her brooding admirer, she couldn't help not noticing. He seemed to be everywhere she turned. There one minute then gone the next.  
Turning her attention back to Comineza, she plastered on her most convincing smile and danced in a calculatedly carefree manner, with her hands in the air.

But she was unnerved.  
If her 'suitor' was indeed an assassin, then she was forced to admit that perhaps she had met her match. She had perhaps underestimated him. He was unfathomably stealthy, relentless and quite obviously determined. And if he was pursuing her romantically....well, she didn't find that any less worrying. Because, infuriatingly, he wasn't like any other man she'd ever met.

After some time, she made her excuses to Comineza, saying she needed to go to the bathroom. He nodded and remained where he was, dancing drunkenly whilst taking long swigs from a bottle of beer.  
Natasha sloped away, casting nervous glances all around, surveying the area before making her way around the side of the bar, heading towards the back of the building where it was quieter and more secluded.

She'd just taken her cell phone from her purse, her intentions were to call HQ and inform them about the mysterious Loki, thinking perhaps he'd be known to them. She even contemplated discreetly taking a picture of him, so they'd be able to run an identity check to determine if he was really who he said he was, and whether or not he posed any real risk. But then suddenly she felt an ominous presence. Her instincts alerting her to the fact that something was wrong.  
That she wasn't alone.

Before she had time to react, a dark figure seemed to materialise as if from nowhere, and suddenly he was on her, crowding her back against the wall.

"Miss Rushman..." Loki purred, pleased by having been able to take her by surprise. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Yeah, imagine that." She said dryly, suitably unimpressed with his opening gambit. "Listen, I suppose I've got to admit your persistence is kind of flattering, but--"

Her words dissolved as she was shoved back against the cool, rough stone of the building almost violently. A sharp gust of breath escaped her lungs, and her wide eyes goggled up into those piercing blue ones. His handsome face was now a mask of unveiled hatred. There was a visible cruelness in the fine lines around his mouth, the tightness of his jaw and the narrowing of his wintry eyes.

"What the hell--?"

He had somehow managed to grip both of her wrists in one large hand, and he held her arms pinned above her head. Their racing pulses seemed to throb together, as he held her in place with his body. The shock, and the feel of him, rendered Natasha momentarily incapacitated, so he was able to effectively pull her cell phone roughly from her hand, as her loose fingers slackened their grasp on it.

"You won't be needing this, Miss Rushman." He said smoothly, the velvety tone of his voice very much at-odds with his fierce countenance.

The phone was snatched and gone, she didn't know where, and in that moment she didn't rightly give a damn. All that mattered to her was her survival. If he was going to make an attempt on her life, he'd better make it a good one, because she certainly wasn't going to go down without a fight.

But as he held her in his tightening grip, he brought his face closer until they were almost nose-to-nose, and as he spoke she felt his cool breath ghosting over the apple of her cheek. 

"Why are you squandering your affections on that unworthy man?"

Her breathing quickened, but she eyed him steadily. "Oh? And you're so much worthier are you? Don't bother answering it's a rhetorical question. Because you're obviously not a gentleman like you claimed to be."

He laughed lightly, and flashed a wide grin that made him look almost feral. "Yes I lied. How bad of me."

Remaining calm, Natasha continued to hold his gaze unwaveringly. She was more than capable of fending him off and could've easily extricated herself from his grasp. But she chose not to. And Loki was well aware of that.

Apparently he'd aroused a perverse curiosity in her. 

Now he would set about 'arousing' her in an entirely different sense.

"Look, despite appearances, I'm actually a very busy woman. So instead of wasting my time, why don't you just cut to the chase and try telling me what it is you want, Loki no-last-name?" She demanded without emotion, already knowing what the answer might be.

"Isn't it obvious?" He replied simply, his voice deepening and slowing to an even more sensual drawl. "I want you."

Natasha swallowed. The man was fathomless. A walking contradiction. Although he was making his intentions blindingly clear, there was an underlying hostility in his mannerisms, his expression. And she found herself wondering why he would hold a grudge against her that warranted him trying to torment her in such a way.

What had she ever done to him?

He wasn't a spurned potential lover. Although many men had shown an interest in her, Loki wasn't the type of man you could forget. Neither would he be so easy to turn down.

Her mind raced, searching the numerous possibilities.  
Was he a relative of one of her many victims? That would at least make some sense, him having a vendetta against her. And whilst it was highly unlikely him being able to trace her and hunt her down, it wasn't impossible. After all, Natasha herself had pulled-off the seemingly 'impossible' on more than one occasion.

"Don't think for one second that I couldn't get away if I wanted to." She informed him, matter-of-factly.

"You could try." He said smugly. "But I'm rather inclined to believe you don't want that. Do you?"

"That might be wishful thinking on your part." She countered sardonically.

"Is that so?" As if to prove a point, Loki relinquished the hold on her wrists, and gently touched the small dip at the base of her throat with the tip of his finger. "Then why are you so excited? I can see the rapid beating of your heart.....here." He traced down her chest casually, as if following the invisible trail of her pulse, back to where her heart palpitated wildly beneath her breast.

Natasha hadn't realised she'd been holding her breath and she silently cursed her traitorous heart for misbehaving. Her senses returned and she swiped his hand away aggressively, then brought her own hand up to administer a sharp, swift slap to the side of his self-assured face.

The sound it made was satisfying, and his head snapped back due to the force of the strike, but to her immense irritation he sneered at her openly. "Your temper is as fiery as your hair. I like that."

Filled with consternation, she was about to repeat the action when he moved faster than what seemed humanly possible. His large hand darted out and caught hold of her wrist once more.

"You're so tempestuous and hostile, Natalie. Why pretend to fight me when you could put your hands to much better use?"

"Yeah like slitting your damn throat!" She snarled, but he saw a reluctant recognition flash in her eyes.

He was right. 

She was choosing not to fight him even though she could.  
But her words had riled him, and the anger returned. His resentment spiked as a result of her audacity, along with other, much more pleasant feelings.

"Oh do pretend to dislike this, Miss Rushman. Your resistance only fuels my excitement, and makes me even more determined."

Pressing his tall body lasciviously against her petite one, she felt the lean muscles of his thighs against her own, the wall of his chest felt as solid as rock beneath his black shirt. Solid, warm, rock. The contact flooded her with a languid heat, that washed over her in sensuous, warm waves, peaking in subtle rushes.

Beneath her cool exterior, Natasha was battling with her conflicting emotions. She was severely pissed at him for man-handling her. His presumptuous, condescending nature infuriated her. He could well have plans to snuff-out her very existence, and this could all be part of some sinister plot. Yet even if he were a genuine threat to her safety, he'd captured her attention and interest. He had succeeded where countless other men before him had failed, by awakening a curious desire in her. 

A desire that she felt compelled to explore.

But her rational thought was at war with her instincts.  
She had a mission to complete, and he was fast proving to be far too much of a distraction.

She opened her mouth to speak, but the unspoken words backed-up in her throat as he fitted his mouth masterfully to hers, his lips warm and firm, sending a shockwave through her system. It felt like being hit by a white-hot crack of lighting, splitting through the dark unknown, setting her senses alight and enticing her into a dark, undiscovered world filled with forbidden longing and sexual promise.

To say the kiss was disarmingly good, was a monumental understatement. It was like nothing she'd ever experienced before, in spite of having kissed countless men.  
Loki's mouth was powerful and undeniably wonderful, playful yet fierce, demanding yet tender, and it incensed her.

Why did the bastard have to be such an amazing kisser? 

If he'd have been terrible or even just mediocre, it would've made things simpler. It would have made it easier to deny him.  
Now she would have to deny herself the pleasure of exploring this man physically. Of exploring her own sexuality.

She had a job to do.

She grasped and clutched blindly at his forearms in a feeble, half-hearted attempt to push him away, but the more she fought him off the more determined he became.  
Her reluctance irked him but also amused him, aroused him, and he kissed her with growing conviction, displaying a ferocity and a passion that frightened her in the best possible way.

He felt her reluctantly soften in his arms like melted butter. Surrendering herself to pure physical sensation as he brought a hand up to her face, his thumb easing her bottom lip open, she complied, allowing and accepting his slick, hot tongue to invade her mouth, like a conquering army. Their mouths tightened, tongues entwining, duelling each other for dominance. He tasted amazing. Sweet, sinful and decadent....like rich, dark chocolate.

Every square inch of her body felt as if it were fusing with his, which proved to be very seductive indeed. Deliberately, he shifted her so he could push his knee between her thighs, lifting it until he felt the heat of her sex through the fabric of his trousers.  
She quivered in an odd, trembling rhythm against him. The warmth of her seemed to burn right through the material, scorching his skin, arousing him further still.

All the while his velvety tongue explored her mouth, delving deeper, teasing, tasting, tempting, taking, and it took an enormous amount of effort on his part to keep from smiling against her lips as she let out an uncharacteristic whimper.

Natasha could barely think straight due to the lustful haze that fogged up her mind.  
He was sensuality incarnate.  
At some point her small hands had fisted into the lapels of his jacket, and now she was tugging at him in desperation. She wanted, she needed, him closer.

This was all the encouragement that Loki needed. He wanted to toy with her further. Having given her a taste of his formidable 'silver tongue' he decided it would be fun to give her a glimpse of the sensual delights he had in store for her.

Stroking the side of her face, he subtly moved his hand upwards and pressed his palm to her forehead.  
At first she seemed a little confused by such a ministration. She hesitated and he felt the pause, but he gave her no opportunity to object. Instead his mouth kept her own occupied with breathless kisses, while his mind flowered open, and he let her have it....

Using his psionic abilities, Loki projected his thoughts into her mind.

Natasha gasped as her minds' eye was suddenly flooded with the sensual image of her unfastening his trousers and frantically wrapping her legs around his waist as she groaned with pleasure. Of him taking her...roughly, gently, and in every position imaginable.

Nudging the rounded joint of his knee bone against that most exquisite place he longed to worship between her silken thighs, the pressure he supplied, combined with his salacious thoughts, made her move almost instinctively against him, seeking-out further friction.  It soothed the ache she felt deep inside, but as he repeated the action of moving his knee against that hidden sweet spot, it seemed to cause an even deeper emptiness and tension. The sharp, coiling pleasure wound tighter inside her, as she ground herself against him almost rhythmically. Loki swallowed the gratifying little moan that slipped from her lips, as his thoughts continued to pour into her mind. Deep, dark, carnal thoughts that were explicit and erotic. 

The outpouring of his raw, wordless desire terrified and thrilled Natasha. The thoughts were lucid, yet came in fractured segments, vibrating through her head, flashing hot and dark. He gave her his pleasure, He showed her the physical sensations he felt, and how the sight and feel of her body aroused him. He let her see how much he coveted her and wanted to have her, to fill her, to make her come apart as he held her.

The experience was overwhelming and indescribable. The heat and pressure of his sinewy body stimulated the sensory overload. The muscles in the intimate place between her legs clenched, as though in great need of....something.  
And that something, terrified her. Her mind was sluggish and spinning, and she was throbbing away, desperate for more. Desperate to feel a different part of his anatomy...there.

Desperate to have him inside her.

It seemed utterly incomprehensible. She was a trained killer, yet here she was, trembling like an autumn leaf caught in gale force winds, as he trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her throat, scraping his teeth down the tingling skin, then licking the small sting away.

Loki himself was getting far too carried away. Ensnared by her beauty, her sensuality, his thoughts became shambolic, even less unguarded, and he was no longer in control of how much he was giving away. 

He would have her by whatever means necessary.  
Yes.  
He would have Agent Natasha Romanoff...

Her name, her title, resounding in her own head was enough to restore her coherency, and thankfully she still possessed a modicum of self-restraint.

How the hell did he know her by that name? How could he possibly know that she was a secret agent?

Despite her obvious attraction to him, despite never having felt more beautiful or desired in her entire life than she had in those moments, seeing herself through his eyes, this bizarre disclosure of information confirmed her earlier suspicions. Cementing her belief that he intended to harm her.

And even if he didn't, whatever was happening was surreal. He was dangerous, and she had to put an end to this.

Placing her hands against his chest, she gave him a hard shove, pushing him away from her.

"Who the hell are you?" She demanded, her voice breathy, anguished, and a little desperate.

He stared at her and answered in a ragged voice. "I've already told you. I am Loki. Is something the matter, Natalie?"

Feeling dazed and confused, Natasha glared at him. Trying not to allow her gaze to linger on his delectable, hateful mouth, which was made for kisses and lies.

"What the hell was that?" She fought to keep the quiver from her voice, as she rubbed her temples furiously with her fingertips. "What did you just do to me?"

Loki arched one dark brow, feigning innocence. "I didn't do anything, Miss Rushman. Perhaps the alcoholic, purple concoction you've been drinking has gone to your head."

"I'm not drunk!" She insisted, hackles rising. She never drank too much when she was working. She was far too professional to risk dulling her senses in such a way.

But then again, her current behaviour had hardly been professional either.

He held her gaze with a slow blink, but the malicious, self-satisfied grin had returned.

"Just....just keep out of my way from now on." Natasha snapped, pushing away from the wall, she made her way passed him.

"Is that truly what you want?" 

She heard his calm enquiry, but did not turn back to look at him. "Damn straight. You need to stay the hell away from me."

She was guarded, and prepared for the possibility of him advancing on her again like a sleek black jaguar,  or panther, pouncing on a lone gazelle.  
But she wasn't as weak or as vulnerable as a gazelle. 

And unlike the gazelle, perhaps she wanted to be caught.


	5. Chapter 5

The short walk from the beachside bar to Natasha's bungalow wasn't very far at all, but with the drunken Comineza it took double the length of time it ordinarily would.

Staggering unsteadily, Natasha did her best to support him and keep him upright, when really she'd have liked nothing better than to let him fall flat on his stupid, oafish face.  
Unfortunately for her though she had to at least keep up the pretence for the benefit of any onlookers, as well as Comineza himself.  
All she had to do was get him back to her room and then she could finally be rid of him.  
And that time couldn't come soon enough, she thought darkly, as he persistently kept trying to claim her mouth with rough, slobbery kisses as they made their way along the sandy path toward the presidential area.

Not too far behind them, Loki observed with increasing disdain. He highly suspected that Natasha was luring the fool back to her accommodation so that she could dispatch him, and he'd taken a morbid interest in how she would slay him, as well as just exactly how far she was willing to go before doing so.

Thoughts of Comineza's meaty hands pawing her dazzling little body made his stomach turn violently. And all the while the word 'mine' resounded in his head, refusing to be silenced.

Comineza would not have her. He would make sure of that. Musspelheim would freeze over before he'd allow that man -- any man -- to take her. 

To his mind, Natasha Romanoff was now his. She would be his compensation, and it was her penance for what the older Natasha had done to him.  
Some might argue that his twisted logic was questionable, but he didn't give a damn. He would seduce her just for the sheer hell of it, and make her suffer. He had to make her suffer someway, somehow.

By now the pair had reached the bungalow and Natasha was hastily bundling the man inside. He was blatantly intoxicated. Loki had already noted how Comineza had grown increasingly over animated, very physically demonstrative, and it also appeared his motor skills were struggling to catch up with his thought process.  
To all intents and purposes, he was an easy target. The hapless brute didn't stand a chance.

Or so it seemed.

Once inside the bungalow, Jose wasted no time in grabbing Natasha clumsily and began ardently kissing her again.

"Hey, slow down sweetie. What's the rush?" She remarked somewhat patronisingly, but Comineza seemed all at once overcome with lust and showed no signs of slowing down. On the contrary, he was quickly becoming alarmingly over amorous, much to Natasha's vexation.

He was a large man and his size dwarfed her petite frame in comparison. As he lunged at her she found herself being pushed backwards against the vanity table. Perfume bottles and makeup went scattering to the floor, as the weight of his hefty torso pressed her down onto the hard surface.

"Wait!" She ordered, pushing him off her.

To her dismay, he wouldn't be deterred, and now her purse had slipped from her arm and was just out of reach. Cursing under her breath, she turned her face away to escape his wet lips. She was going to have to use her own strength and combat skills against him now, rather than subduing him quietly as she'd intended.

Freeing her arm with relative ease, she brought her elbow up sharply, hitting him square on the jaw.

Stunned, he reeled backwards, clutching his chin. "Fucking bitch!"

"Oh please. Spare me the melodramatics. I hardly touched you." 

She was up and on her feet in an instant, but Comineza recovered surprisingly quickly. Quicker than she'd anticipated. As he lurched towards her, raising his fist, she swiftly grabbed him by the wrist before he could hit her. Raising his arm up, she used her free hand to punch him in just the right spot so that the bone fractured with a sickening crack.

He let out an agonised howl, and whilst he was preoccupied with cradling his broken arm, Natasha hurried to retrieve her purse from where it lay by the door.  
To her frustration, Comineza did not have the good sense to know when he was beaten. His injury hadn't distracted him for long, so before she knew it he was on her again.

But this time he reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a small pistol. How he'd managed to keep it concealed, Natasha couldn't understand.  
The problem was, now he was seriously pissed off and brandishing a weapon. She hadn't seen that coming, but still she wasn't overly concerned.

"Now you will pay,  you whore!" He roared angrily, his lame arm not hindering him as he wrestled her down onto the bed, pressing the pistol unnecessarily forcefully against her head.

With his fractured elbow, he couldn't push her dress up as effectively as he tried, though it didn't deter him, and his intentions were sickeningly clear as he fumbled to unfasten his trousers.

Slight panic frothed in Natasha's chest, but she didn't let it cloud her judgment. Instead she used all her strength to flip herself upwards, and as the movement caught him off guard, forcing him to lean back, she made a grab for the gun.

Amidst the grappling, Natasha did not notice Loki entering the room like a wild force of nature. Neither did Comimeza, which proved to be his downfall.

Everything seemed to happen at hyper-speed, and chaos ensued.  
Conjuring one of his duel daggers, the God of Mischief gripped Comineza fiercely by what little hair he had, and with an efficient slash of steel, he savagely slit the man's throat almost from ear to ear. As blood gushed from the fatal wound, during the confusion Natasha had taken possession of the pistol. As Jose slumped to the floor, gurgling and clutching at his neck with one hand, the other reached for the gun once more, causing it to accidentally go off.

A loud bang rang out, and Loki felt the bullet graze his upper arm. To say it was a mere scratch was an exaggeration, but of course Natasha wasn't aware of his otherworldly, durable, self-healing skin.

She looked up to see Loki stagger back slightly, but he recovered even more quickly than Comineza had.

"Was that bullet intended for me?" He asked, accusingly. "I come to your aid and this is the thanks I get."

She lowered the pistol. "For your information it went off accidentally, the safety wasn't even on. Which I guess proves your point. He was a complete dumbass."

"Oh and attempting to rape you wasn't sufficient enough evidence to that fact?"

Natasha bristled with discomfort at his words. "I had the situation under control, I could've handled it without your interference. All you've done is make a real mess of things."

"You didn't appear to be in control from where I was standing."

"Yeah? And just where exactly were you standing?" She demanded, folding her arms defensively across her chest. "How the hell did you even get in here? I locked that door. And why are you still following me? I told you to stay away."

She saw that he was idly feeling his right arm just below the shoulder, seemingly assessing how serious his injury was. He hadn't so much as winced in pain, which impressed, as well as confused, her.

"Regardless of what you say, events might've taken a sinister turn had I not been following you." He insisted, seemingly completely indifferent to his gunshot wound.

"And you slitting his throat isn't sinister?" Natasha hurled back, but before he could respond she spoke again, eager to desist with their war of words for the time being. "What about you anyway. How's the arm?"

Loki smirked, as if thoroughly amused. "It's the variest scratch. I think you'll find you've harmed the wall more than you have me."

He turned to inspect the hole in the plaster, some of which had crumbled onto the floor.

Just then there came a knock at the door, startling them both.  
Standing completely still, they listened intently to the muffled voices coming from outside. Loki recalled having heard one of the voices before. If he wasn't mistaken it belonged to the young cabana boy he'd bribed earlier in the day.

Hearing the other voice -- that of a female -- saying something about checking the room, Natasha started for the door but Loki stopped her.

"Allow me. That boy is known to me." He explained vaguely.

Natasha stared at him, her gaze demanding further explanation. "He can't see this!" She gestured wildly at the dead body. Blood continued to pour onto the floor, forming a dark crimson pool on the tiles. Thankfully the room wasn't carpeted, otherwise there would've been real complications.

This is not how it was supposed to happen, Natasha lamented, silently seething. She preferred to do a quick, clean job, leaving no mess or evidence behind. Now she had a bloodied body to get rid of. She couldn't just leave his lifeless carcass lying on the beach, physically unharmed like she had initially planned.  
The injection she'd intended to give him would've made the death look like natural causes. Now her room was a bloodbath. Loki's grisly attack on Comineza had almost resulted in the complete severing of the head from the body, making the scene much harder to clean up.

"Trust me, it'll be fine." Loki assured her, as he strode casually to the door.

"Trust you?" She scoffed, but there was no time for further objections.

Opening the door just wide enough to peer around, Loki feigned a most charming smile, disarming the cabana boy completely. It was evident by his surprised expression that he hadn't expected Loki to answer the door.

"Can I help you?" He asked calmly.

"Um, good evening sir. I was just checking that everything is okay. You see, a guest in one of the neighbouring bungalows reported a disturbance. They seem to think it sounded like a gunshot."

Loki tilted his head, his dark brows lifting in mock-amusement. "A gunshot? Really? Ah, perhaps it was the uncorking of the champagne bottle we just opened."

The boy looked at him curiously. "You mean it was a champagne cork they heard?"

"Yes I assume so. Regrettably, it isn't a vintage you see. When you open a cheaper champagne the cork tends to make an inordinate amount of noise when it's removed. I can perhaps see how the popping sound may be mistaken for a pistol being fired, that is, to someone with a wild imagination."

Clearly baffled, the boy appeared to be considering this, while the cabana girl seemed to be much more convinced.

"Oh. Yeah. That makes sense." She said, smiling warmly.

Loki matched her smile by returning her a foxy grin of his own. "Good. Well I'm glad that's all settled then. Now if you'll excuse me, I am otherwise engaged."

Taking the opportunity to add validation to Loki's explanation, Natasha obligingly called out in her airiest voice...

"Who's at the door honey? Is everything alright? We're supposed to be celebrating here. Hurry up the water's getting cold."

The boy's eyebrows shot up comically, his eyes staring from his head, and the girl perceptibly blushed.

"We're sorry to have interrupted you." She mumbled, visibly mortified for having encroached on what appeared to be a couples romantic evening.

The boy cleared his throat and nodded his agreement. "Yes, um, enjoy the rest of your evening, sir."

Seemingly satisfied, they left, and as Loki closed the door he burst into one of his wild laughs.

"Well I'm glad you find this so funny." Natasha said frostily.

"It's mildly amusing, wouldn't you agree? Their naivety is staggering."

"Yeah I'm laughing too. On the inside."

"Your strategy was ingenious. Implying that we were bathing together, worked magnificently. I dare say they were stricken by the awkwardness."

"What can I say? I'm resourceful. But I'm surprised you're so chirpy, considering you've just been shot."

Loki laughed again, but quite differently. As though he was now really genuinely amused. He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Your concern for my well being is touching, Miss Rushman. But I assure you I'll survive."

"Not if you don't clean up this mess you've caused you won't."

Natasha knew herself to be a sharp-tongued woman. Her defensiveness, well-maintained cynicism and biting sense of humour, served as a fortress of defences she'd built between herself and the rest of the world. But she also possessed a shrewd intelligence, which Loki was more than aware of.

"I will attend to the matter. Don't fidget yourself into a frenzy over it."

Natasha scowled. "Are you kidding me? How exactly are you planning on fixing this?"

Loki was now moving efficiently, threading his hands under the arms of the corpse. "Just leave it to me."

"What are you doing?"

"I'm going to dispose of the body, obviously."

Heaving the upper half of the body off the floor, Loki dragged it across the room. Natasha assisted by opening the door as instructed, but to say she had her reservations was putting it mildly.

"And where exactly are you going to dump him?" She demanded, after quickly having checked the coast was clear. "His throat has been slashed, you can't just toss him into the ocean or leave him on the beach."

"Is that what you intended to do?"

"Maybe. But you can't do that now. I've been seen in his company, his death will be traced back to me."

Loki regarded her with a look that suggested he wasn't interested in the slightest, which did nothing to assuage her concerns. "He won't be traced back to you. I'll take care of it. You need to trust me."

"Trust you?" She scoffed. "I don't even know you."

He made no reply until he'd dragged Comineza outside, and Natasha made to follow. 

"Wait here. I need to do this alone."

"Why?"

"Just stay here. You can't risk being seen."

"And what if you're seen?"

His response was self-assured, as he disappeared around the corner of the bungalow. "I won't be."

Perplexed, Natasha was sorely tempted to go after him, and to hell with the consequences. She couldn't even begin to fathom what Loki planned to do. It was very much her problem, and technically none of Loki's business. Well, at least it hadn't been until he'd barged in and gotten involved.

Just then her eyes fell on her discarded purse, so she swooped down and picked it up once more.

Meanwhile outside, Loki had cloaked both himself and the dead man with invisibility. He dropped the literal dead weight by his feet, and using his magic, conjured the Tesseract.  
The blue crystalline cube glowed in the darkness, casting an eerie light all about him. He focused hard, then successfully proceeded to open a portal, but this time he didn't chance entering it himself in case he got sucked into another time, as well as dimension.  
The air rippled before him, and as the gateway opened up to reveal the charred, barren landscape of Svartalfheim, Loki picked the cadaver up and tossed it into the vortex as if the bulky Jose weighed no more than a handful of feathers.

Good riddance, he thought to himself as he brushed his hands together in a gesture that was infinitely contemptuous.

Closing the portal, he then reversed the act of conjuration, making the Tesseract disappear again. Now he could turn his attention back to Natasha, without interference.  
It was then it occurred to him that in order to keep up the pretence of being a mere mortal, he would have to make his injury more convincing. So, using his magic once more, he cast the illusion of a convincingly bloodied wound, seeing as the real one had already healed.

As he walked back inside he was greeted with the sight of Natasha kneeling on the floor, using a towel to soak up the last remnants of blood from the tiles.  
He liked her being on her knees, and the dark, depraved part of him fantasised about gripping her tightly by the hair as he forced her to take him in her pretty little mouth.

But his lascivious thoughts dispersed as she glowered up at him. 

"That didn't take long. Where did you put him?"

"Don't fret. He won't be found." Loki reassured her.

She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "That's not answering my question." 

He huffed and rolled his eyes at her rudely. "What does it matter? He's gone. That's the main thing."

She rose carefully, holding the blood soaked towel at arms length so as not to get any on her dress. "It matters because there are people who'll want to know. Though I guess it doesn't matter all that much. Your DNA will be all over him, so if he's found you'll be in the frame for murder before I am."

Not wanting to become embroiled in a debate regarding how unlikely it was that he'd be linked to the homicide, Loki shrewdly chose to steer the conversation in another direction, in an attempt to distract her.

"Miss Rushman, when you have a moment I'd appreciate it if you'd assist me in binding up your handiwork. I'm spoiling my suit."

Whilst she was throwing the sodden towel into the bathtub, he took the opportunity to make himself at home in her room.  
The bed was conveniently large and the mattress, rather firm.  
All the better to make love on, he thought, salaciously.

Swinging his long legs up, he leaned back against the headboard and arranged his injured arm carefully on the pillows.

When Natasha came back in and saw him lounging casually on her bed, her glare was hard enough to shatter marble. She was incensed by his audacity, and had it not been for his injury she would've pitched him straight back out through the door.  
Although if she was being completely honest with herself, she knew it wasn't his minor injury that was stopping her. The situation called for subtlety. She wanted answers from him and she deduced that the only way she would get them would be to coax the information from him tactfully. 

"If you get blood on my bed, I'll have to kill you." She said, darkly. "Can't you go and bleed all over your own room?"

Loki's mouth kicked up at the corner. "Is that any way to speak to an ally, Natalie?"

Her expression was shuttered. She looked as though she'd been carved from granite. So stoic, impenetrable, cold.

"Is that what you are? An ally?" She asked tersely.

He shrugged his good shoulder. "I've assisted you have I not?"

"Hm. And I can't help wondering why you would do that."

Somewhat grudgingly she went into the bathroom and returned a moment later with a first aid kit.

"I was concerned for your safety." He said, watching with keen interest as she set the little red case down on the bed. "And with good reason."

"My hero." She retorted, with the ghost of her usual sarcasm.

"My pleasure."

His voice was deeper, and laced with a suggestiveness that sent a prickly chill skittering across her skin. Natasha tried desperately to ignore it, as she sat down beside him and busied herself with opening a pack of sterile wipes. 

"Let's have a look at your battle wound then."

Loki obediently sat forward and carefully removed his jacket, but he wasn't able to turn his sleeve up high enough for her to access the site. Seeing him struggling, she gave an exasperated sigh.

"Take your shirt off."

He paused, blue-green eyes snapping to her face as if he'd misheard or was having difficulty understanding her. 

But obviously he wasn't hearing impaired, stupid, or unable to comprehend what she was saying. No, he was simply reluctant.

"What's the matter? Suddenly feeling bashful? I didn't think you'd be the shy type." She gave a wry smile. "Don't worry I'm not going to swoon."

His dark brows drew together in a deep frown, but he didn't protest. Instead he remained surprisingly silent, while his elegant fingers worked at his buttons.  
His shirt came apart, exposing a sliver of white skin, and although she wasn't in danger of swooning, she still felt peculiar. Her pulse was racing, and beads of sweat gathered at the nape of her neck.

Bozhe moi.

To her utter annoyance, she felt her jaw slacken a little as he slipped out of his shirt, revealing the full expanse of sculpted, smooth chest. His skin was like precious marble, mostly smooth save for the slight dusting of dark hair which ran down from his belly button, disappearing enticingly below the waistband of his trousers.

Elicit thoughts invaded her mind. Much like before, they were carnal, fevered, and mostly involved her being wrapped around his toned, sinewy body.  
For one ridiculous, mortifying moment, she felt patches of warmth spreading across her body, causing a hot flush to crawl it's way up her neck and to her face.  
It was unfathomable. Natasha wasn't prone to blushing, she never had been. Yet here she was suddenly blushing like an infatuated adolescent with a crush.

"What's the matter?" He smirked. "Suddenly feeling bashful?" It was half question, half smug statement, and she longed to wipe the impish grin off his face by smacking him hard across the mouth.

She steadied her breathing and answered flatly. "No."

"Your blushes suggest otherwise."

"I'm not blushing. It's damn hot in here."

And it was damn hot. That much at least wasn't a lie.  
Except it wasn't simply just to do with the weather. The heavily charged atmosphere wasn't exactly helping matters. Even as Natasha began cleaning his wound, doing her upmost to remain focused on the task, she was fully aware of how intimate the moment felt. The silence, along with every touch, every noise and scent, became magnified.  
The smell of leather and the spicy zing of his aftershave seemed to envelop her. She could hear the soft sound of his breathing, feel the sturdiness of his muscular bicep as she tended to the relatively minor injury. 

"It is only a graze. You obviously got lucky." She informed him needlessly. But she felt compelled to speak. To say something -- anything -- in order to shatter the intense silence, and dispel the loaded tension.

"Indeed I did." His eyes never left her face, and the deep, lulling tone of his voice was spellbinding.

"You won't be so lucky if Comineza's body is found."

"It won't be. Besides, I do not fear the authorities."

Natasha held his gaze. "It won't be the authorities you'll need to fear." She warned him. "If this comes back to bite me on the ass, it'll be your blood I'm cleaning up."

Loki indicated to the bloodied wipes that littered the floor by the bed. "I believe you've already done that."

"That's not what I meant and you know it."

"Do I? Am I to understand that you'd seriously attempt to kill me, Miss Rushman?"

"I will kill you. Efficiently. Although a quick, painless death wouldn't be anywhere near satisfying enough."

Hastily she finished dressing his wound by making a pad with some wads of cotton, and bound the dressing tightly by wrapping a bandage around his arm to keep it in place. Unfortunately, this meant she had to lean in quite close to him, and just as she moved back, he reached out and grasped her firmly by the wrist.

"Let us be clear on the matter...your feeble threats do not alarm me, Natalie. Shall I tell you what I would like to do to you?"

She let out a small gasp as he tugged her closer, drawing her traitorous, trembling body into him. When he spoke again his voice came as a harsh whisper, his breath cool against her flushed face.

"You have no idea what I'd like to do to you. Bind your wrists and push you against a wall. Drive my cock into your sweet, wet heat. Fuck you hard, again and again until you're raw and can't walk for days afterwards.....and that's only to begin with."

His torrid words washed over her, creating a sharp heat that speared low. The vulgar proclamation did not offend her or even anger her. It aroused her.  
He had awoken her desires, her carnal curiosity, and now she found herself aching for him with a sweet, piercing agony. 

"Is that threat supposed to frighten me?" She managed, the words leaving her lips on a shaky breath. "If it is......it's not much of a deterrent."

Loki's eyes darkened, glittering with lust. "Oh it's not a threat, Natalie. It's a promise."

He barely had time to finish his sentence, when Natasha's lips came crushing against his. It was the last thing he'd expected, but it only took him a split second to recover from the shock, and soon he was returning her passionate kisses, their bodies straining against each other as if locked in a sensual tug of war. 

The heat of her body, her latent hunger for him, drove him wild and almost blind with lust. As she ran her tongue over his, he plundered the recesses of her sweet mouth fiercely, as if maddened by his desire for her. His erection hardened to full arousal, aching and pulsing with need, with anticipation, fuelling his anger.  
He was angry at her for doing this to him. Angry at her for making him want her so desperately.

Natasha's resentment was mutual. The desire she felt for him was driving her crazy, compromising her most precariously. She was maddeningly attracted to him. She ached for him. Her rational thought was hanging by a mere thread. A thread that he was dangerously close to snapping. 

In his passion, he was oblivious to her inner turmoil. The silent battle raging inside her head. How she found the will to deny her willing, eager body and slip her hand inside the first aid kit, blindly searching for the syringe she'd concealed there earlier, she did not know.  
Whilst Loki had been disposing of Comineza, she'd had the forethought to take it out of her purse, in the event of her needing it.  
It contained three drugs. Sodium thiopental, to induce unconsciousness, pancuronium bromide, to cause muscle paralysis and respiratory arrest, and potassium chloride to stop the heart.

It had been prepared with Comineza in mind.  
Now it wasn't the bullet, but rather this lethal injection, intended for Loki.  
Her new, irresistibly alluring, foe.

The sharp stab of pain caused him to gasp, and pull away from her haltingly. It hadn't hurt that much at all, but it was completely unexpected. Raising a large hand to his neck, Loki stared at her in disbelief.

"Oh what have you done, you silly girl?"

Natasha's face altered momentarily. For the first time readable expressions crossed her features.  
Guilt.  
Regret.  
Relief.

"Sorry. I don't trust you. And I can't afford to be compromised." 

Her face and the room fell out of focus, swimming and swirling for several heartbeats -- his own palpitating heartbeats -- until everything became hazy, and Loki's vision then faded to black.


	6. Chapter 6

As Loki peeled open his heavy eyelids, the first thing he was aware of was a terrible throbbing headache and sickness. Quite a lot of sickness in fact. 

By Odin's beard, his stomach was turning somersaults and the headache was monstrous. Not even being smashed into the floor of Stark's tower by the mindless green beast had caused his head to throb so painfully.

Trying to gather his scattered thoughts, he sat up slowly, gingerly rubbing his temples with his fingertips. His bleary eyes took-in his surroundings. He didn't trust his memory. There was large blank spaces, and the headache and nausea was slowing him down considerably. Even thinking seemed to hurt.

How in the name of Frigga had he ended up in this state? He cast his mind back, and after a few moments his coherency began to return.

Of course.....Natasha-fucking-Romanoff.

She had done this to him.

With concentrated effort, he somehow managed to lever himself up from the bed and stand without heaving. He was a little unsteady, his long legs wobbling like jello and his feet felt like two breeze blocks.  
He realised he was still shirtless, and worryingly, very much alone. His assailant was nowhere to be seen.

Damn.

His need for revenge prompted him into action. Hurriedly he retrieved his shirt and slipped it on as he made for the door in a slightly haphazard, lurching motion. The lingering affects of the drugs were not unlike being drunk, so it took all of his focus to walk in a straight line, as though he wasn't accustomed to having legs yet.

Outside the sun was blinding but a cool breeze was rolling in from the sea, so thankfully it wasn't unbearably hot.

Shielding his eyes with a hand, Loki turned this way and that. The resort was unusually quiet, he noted, but more importantly, there was no sign of Natasha.

Muttering a string of expletives under his breath, he began making his way along the sandy pathway without any particular plan or destination in mind. He had no idea where she'd gone but he had to begin looking for her somewhere.  
By the nines, he would tear the whole damn place apart with his own bare hands if he had to, but find her he would. 

Just then a voice called out to him, though in his confused state it took a moment to register that the speaker was addressing him.

"Sir! Excuse me, sir!"

Loki spun around unsteadily on his heel, only to find himself almost face to face with the irksome cabana boy yet again.

Had it been the previous day when he'd bribed him? He had no way of knowing and couldn't be certain. Heaven only knew how long he'd been unconscious for.

"Well?" Loki snapped impatiently.

The boy looked flustered. He was visibly nervous, and with good reason. Loki's wild eyes were fierce and frightening, and he practically radiated anger.

"Sir, the lady from the bungalow...."

Loki took a step towards him, his dark brows forging into a deep scowl. "Yes? What about her?"

"She asked me to tell you that she's in the fitness suite."

Loki's frown deepened further still. "Fitness suite?"

The boy nodded, indicating in the direction of the grand hotel. "Yes sir. It's on the fifth floor in the main complex."

"And she specifically asked you to tell me this?"

"Yes sir."

Without another word, Loki set off towards the large, opulent building. His gaze was fixed straight ahead as he took long, purposeful strides, focused solely on walking.

Why would she send word to him, letting him now where she would be? It was beyond his comprehension. He reluctantly had to admire her gall. She was either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave, and as she was possessed with strong intellect he was inclined to believe it to be the latter. And yet, to have drugged him like she had, it would've made more sense for her to flee the scene. To escape his wrath whilst she still had the chance. 

There was no plausible explanation for her bizarre behaviour.   
Unless....she wanted him.  
Now that was a tantalising, if not highly unlikely, theory. If she desired him, then why would she have sedated him with a cocktail of potentially lethal drugs?

The more he pondered the matter, the angrier he became. 

Dishevelled and slightly disorientated, Loki entered the hotel almost blind with rage. A red mist had descended before his eyes, clouding his vision as well as his judgement. He was growing increasingly irritated, his rapid heart thudding in sync with the incessant dull pounding in his skull. He could barely contain his fury as he impatiently paced back and forth, waiting for the elevator.

Meanwhile, five floors above, Natasha was partaking in her usual morning exercise. She always rose early to do yoga, and then practised the ballet routine she knew by heart. It was habitual. Having been taught this discipline since early childhood in the Red Room, ballet dancing helped her to relax, whilst simultaneously keeping her body supple and her mind focused.

Though admittedly, it was proving more difficult this morning. Her nerves were jangling due to the anticipation of awaiting her so-called ally. Her mind kept wandering back to him, the mysterious Loki, wondering when he would awake from his drug-induced slumber. The lethal injection she'd administered would prove fatal to any ordinary man. Indeed the dose had been measured in accordance with Jose Comineza's hefty body weight, so to all intents and purposes Loki ought to be dead as a result of his much slender stature. But as he had so grandly proclaimed, he wasn't like other men. So whether or not she'd succeeded in killing him remained to be seen.

And she did not have to wait much longer to find out.

Intuitively, she'd left a message with a cabana boy, in the event of Loki waking up. She was brazenly curious, wanting to see how he would respond. His anger was the still kind. She had recognised that. Cool, calm, and calculating, until provoked beyond the limits of his patience. His barely-suppressed temper excited her, and their sparring was tempered with an element of eroticism. Admittedly, she rather perversely perceived their fighting as some form of foreplay. Even though it went against all of her training, she longed to take things to another level. To see how far she could push him. To ignite his passion further.   
Yes she was well aware that she was playing with fire. But what did she stand to lose? Her virginity? Suddenly that seemed like a very enticing prospect. So what if she surrendered herself to him? Would that be so disastrous?   
Not at all.

In the grand scheme of things, having stayed awake all night to do some serious soul-searching, she'd come to the conclusion that succumbing to a man's advances would not affect her work performance. Upon deep reflection, she realised she no longer cherished her chastity. Loki had stirred-up feelings of desire and wanton lust, so why not give herself to him?   
He was after all, a fine, beautiful specimen of a man. The sort that didn't come along very often, if ever.  
Besides, she was tired of feeling like only half a woman. Before this year was out she would turn twenty, and she was still a virgin. Perhaps it was time to break free from her cocoon of girlish innocence and indulge herself. Her dalliance with Loki made her want to explore her sexuality and experience the original sin, the pleasures of the flesh, in all it's glorious complexity.

The sound of the gymnasium door suddenly being flung open momentarily broke her concentration, but she concealed it well. Stubbornly, she refused to turn and look, choosing instead to continue her twists. The tiny hairs prickled at the nape of her neck. Her brow began to perspire. Her keen instincts sensed his presence. He seemed to alter the very air around him, sucking all the oxygen out of the room.

Upon seeing her dancing, Loki allowed his eyes to drink her in. The way she twirled gracefully about the room on her tiptoes, dressed in black tights and a leotard, the tightness of the material clinging lovingly to every feminine curve, caused a primal stirring deep in his loins. 

He was incensed by her blatant nonchalance. She was ignoring him deliberately, which only served to rile him further. This had all been strategically planned. He could see that now. She'd purposely left word with the cabana boy, knowing full well that he'd seek her out in a berserker rage. If she presumed that she was safe here, in the hotel complex, then she was sorely mistaken. Being in a public building would not stop him. In fact her blasé attitude stoked his fury. She seemed to be deliberately mocking him, flaunting herself, taunting him with her exquisite little body.

He despised her audacity, and hated himself even more for wanting her. He found himself growing hard. The urge to slam her to the floor and force himself into her, relishing in her whimpers for him to stop, became unbearable.

Agitated, he stormed across the floor, trying to shake off his arousal by pushing all carnal thoughts back into the dark recesses of his twisted mind.   
She had attempted to assassinate him. Fury bubbled through his veins like molten lava, but it was his lust that was like a tempestuous volcano on the verge of eruption. He wanted to tear her limb from limb, or at the very least snap her slender neck. However, that seemed like such a terrible pity to waste such beauty, such fierce intelligence...but alas, she had to pay for her actions, and pay dearly. 

Beauty be damned. He could kill her.

"Agent Romanoff." He snarled, top lip curling like a rabid dog. "No more games."

Hearing her real name spoken so harshly brought Natasha to a sudden halt. She dared meet his gaze, but the way in which her eyes dropped down to his mouth, did not escape his notice. 

"Fine by me." She said stonily, resting a hand on her hip. "How about you start by explaining just how exactly you seem to know who I am?"

"I owe you no explanation. You on the other hand, owe me an apology."

Her pride spiked, resentment and frustration leaking into her usually deadpan tone of voice. "Oh really? You don't think you owe me an explanation? Just who in the hell do you think you are--?"

"Enough!" He growled. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. But now might be a good time to beg for mercy, before I completely lose my patience with you!" 

"Beg?" She laughed humourlessly. "Yeah, that's not going to happen."

"Then suffer the consequences." In three strides he closed the distance between them, but defiant to the last, she stood her ground. 

In a matter of seconds they became a tornado of hands and arms and legs, grappling and battling each other furiously. Blows were exchanged and blocked, but Natasha was skilled enough in combat to recognise when an opponent was deliberately pulling their punches. He was toying with her. Holding back. Which she quickly realised was a good thing, as he was without question amazingly strong and fast.

Similarly, Loki was undoubtedly impressed by her abilities. She was a worthy sparring partner, but still no match for the strength and agility of an enraged Demi-God.

"What are you?" She demanded breathlessly, as he managed to outmanoeuvre her, successfully grasping her from behind.

"I'm your worst nightmare." He rasped. "And I'm afraid you're going to have to die for your insolence."

She yelped in protest as he painfully twisted one of her arms up behind her back, his free hand closing around her throat. All her attempts to back-heel him in the shins proved futile, all it did was provoke him into pinning her aggressively to his lean body, preventing her from lashing out.

"Sshh." He hushed her menacingly, his large hand tightening around her neck. "It'll do you no good to struggle."

Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths. She could sense he wanted to strangle her with his bare hands. They were so large, so strong and masculine, capable. He could easily snap her neck with a simple squeeze of those long, elegant fingers.

But as she writhed in his clutches, temptation swelled through his body. Her perfectly-formed rear was pressed neatly into his groin, and as she strained and struggled against him, his sex stiffened to full arousal. Loki tried in vain to ignore the throbbing, masculine heat coiling between his legs, but his stomach cramped with lust.

And now Natasha felt him. She could feel him, hard and needy, straining against the fabric of his trousers, pressing against her ass. She swallowed hard, and stilled, as he succumbed to his desire, his iron grip forcing her to stand on her tiptoes. Forcing the curve of her buttocks to cradle the rigid erection between his legs.  
The sound of her heavy breaths echoed through the empty chasm of the gymnasium. Oh god, she was so completely aware of her own body, of his body. She felt his need, just as he felt her willingness.

There was no more deliberation, no decision to be made. Her next words came on a breathless whisper, stealing his own breath clear away...

"You can."

You can.

The words resounded in his ears, like the sweetest music he'd ever heard. With just those two simple words, there was a glimmer of hope. An elicit promise to put an end to his suffering. Even though it would mark the beginning of hers, as he had no intention of being gentle.

"Choose your next words wisely, Miss Romanoff, because I'm going to give you precisely three seconds to reconsider. If you haven't voiced an objection by the time I count to three, I'm going to take you right now, right here, against this wall. And I won't be delicate."

Her sharp intake of breath pleased him. It was the only indication that his crude threat had any impact on her whatsoever. Other than that, she remained stubbornly silent, even as he began his countdown.

"One...."

Sweet Niflheim. Dare he believe it? She was surrendering to him willingly. Granting him permission to take her. Or was it a cruel trick? A tactical distraction in order to stall for time? If it were, then her time was quickly running out.

".....two....."

Excitement lurched inside his chest. The tension heated his insides, every nerve ending prickling with anticipation. He'd never sampled a mortal woman before, and never had he wanted to until her. 

Well, now she would pay. He would finish what she had started.

".....three!"

Within an instant, he'd pushed her up against the back wall, and she gasped as he used an exploratory finger to trace her sex through the thin layer of her clothing. 

"Does my rage excite you? Are you wet for me?"

Words failed her. Even now she was reluctant to give him the satisfaction of hearing her say that it did, and that she was. 

"Very well, let's see shall we." 

With a quick and impatient tug he ripped the seam of her leotard, tearing a hole in her tights. His actions thrilled and terrified her, and she held her breath, trembling, as she allowed him to inch her legs apart.

Somehow she managed to find her voice. "Just...just so you know....I haven't ever--"

"Quiet!" He hissed close to her ear, as his fingers dipped inside the torn material, searching for the forbidden flesh.

To his astonishment she obeyed, and he'd cut her off abruptly before she'd completed her sentence. For the love of Valhalla, he wished he hadn't been so hasty and let her finish. Now his imagination was running rampant.   
She hadn't ever what? Been ravaged against a wall? Fucked a God?   
Surely she hadn't been about to confess to never having had sex before? If so then this would be all the more pleasurable for him, though not so much for her. 

Still, the possible confession fuelled his passion. He would plunder her very core, steal her virginity and leave her ruined for all other men. His possessiveness was irrational. He could make no sense of it, especially when so little blood was flowing to his brain right now.  

She gasped again as he teased and stroked along the slick, hot, entrance of her body, opening her like the petals of a flower that bloomed under his touch.

By the nines she was so ready for him. So wet, so warm, inviting and willing. 

She heard the tell-tale sign of his belt being unbuckled, and then felt the tip of his cock nudging it's way into her sex like a heat-seeking missile.

Bozhe moi.

Natasha bit down hard on her bottom lip as his sturdy length entered her in a sharp, wet glide. The penetrating pain was so intense it made her eyes water. He was hard as steel, and filled her inch by inch so completely she felt he was stretching her to breaking point.

"Take it." He hissed, pushing further until his engorged cock was sheathed to the hilt in her exquisite female heat. "All of it."

Taking her right leg in his hand, he raised it up to the barre, affording him a better angle. Her flexibility enabled her to rest her foot on the conveniently placed handrail that ran along the back wall, which provided her with the extra support to help steady herself as he slowly pulled back then sank into her again.

He groaned unashamedly, volatile excitement erupting in him, combusting with anger and lust and yearning. Natasha failed to stifle a whimper, a whimper that grew progressively louder as he began to move with more purpose. Her keening made him feel powerful, strong, and savage. And she felt incredible. Initially her tightness had caused him discomfort, but as he drove into her with increasing momentum he felt her walls stretching to accommodate his size, easing around him as he pumped away at her relentlessly.

"So tight..." He growled in approval, not sure if he'd thought or spoken the words aloud. "....so...so tight, and so wet." 

He knew he should slow, be merciful to her virginal flesh. But she was so hot, and tight, and it made him mindless. Pleasure skittered across his skin in delicious spasms, seeping into his every pore, nerve ending and muscle, every fibre of his being, reaching as deep as his very bones.

Natasha's pulse thrummed a frantic rhythm. She could feel it in her wrists, the base of her throat, and where they were joined. Their perspiring bodies fused together. He was buried so deep inside her, she could no longer tell where she began and he ended.  
Encouragingly, she arched back into him, tilting and rocking her hips against his in an attempt to meet his thrusts. 

"Yes...that's it...that's good." He let out a hissing breath.

He couldn't stop now even if he wanted to. He was lost to the sublime sensations, lost in this wild symphony of flesh.   
Looking down, his eyes feasted on his pulsing cock sliding in and out of her tight channel, glistening with her wetness. The sight of him fucking her drove him wild, pushing him beyond the limits of all self-restraint.

"Fuck." She moaned the word out, as Loki used the barre as leverage and took up a punishing, brutal pace. Riding her with unbridled abandon, a carnal aggression, that bordered on mania.

Natasha cried out in blissful agony, but quickly snapped her teeth together. She was coming apart at the seams. He was tearing her in two. She felt like she was being impaled, lacerated inside, her delicate, sensitive lining pulverised.  
His impressive size, his powerful, strong, fluid movements knocked all the air from her lungs. Reaching down, he stroked and manipulated her swollen clit with the pad of his thumb. She felt an inimitable tightening deep inside, and her groin flooded with a tingling warmth that consumed her from the inside out.

Her limb-melting climax hit suddenly and without warning, erupting magnificently slowly in the most spectacular orgasm of her life. The heady pulses of pleasure wracked her petite body, threading their way down her trembling legs into the very soles of her feet.

"Loki--!" His name tore from her lips on a ragged sob. Hearing it almost made him come undone instantly. But he managed to keep a modicum of self-control as he rode her through her climax, his hand covering her mouth to stifle her cries. 

"Do try to be quiet, Natasha. There's a good girl....If people hear you, I'm not going to stop." He gave a salacious laugh that sounded filthy and course.

His explicit warning, the pure, physical sensations, were indescribable. Her entire body throbbed and glowed. She felt internally bruised and tender but utterly euphoric. As her orgasm gradually ebbed, her stifled little moans filled his ears, spurring him on to delve inwards with increasing ferocity, each thrust harder, reaching deeper than the last.

Well what did she expect? She should not have spread her legs for him. He fucked angrily. He was angry. His passion was vicious, unrestrained, and unforgiving. His hips kept on moving in a constant, forward-thrusting motion. She writhed in his arms, jerking with the force of his rapid movements. But he held her in place, tightly, possessively. He was all around her and inside her. His masculine heat, his energy, enveloped her.

A sheen of sweat gathered on his chest where it pressed against her back. Her body was so warm, so flexible, so toned.

"Natasha, I'm going to come." He whispered hoarsely, gritting his teeth. "Inside. Deep inside you."

She gasped and moaned her pleasure as he made his series of last, frenzied, desperate thrusts.

"Fuck! Coming--! Yes!" He punctuated each word with an excessively hard thrust.   
His release came in hot spurts, flooding her with liquid warmth. He groaned and shuddered, thrusting two more times before finally stilling, now satiated and spent.

Their breathing was hampered and strangely in unison. Pausing only for a few moments to collect his strength, he carefully withdrew his waning length. She winced, barely able to stand as his hips drew away from hers. As he rearranged his clothing accordingly, she struggled to support herself on her own legs.   
It was then he noticed the glistening strains of crimson on his shaft, a stark reminder that he'd taken her virginity.

"You'll want to clean yourself up." He said calmly, beginning to take charge. "If you use the facilities in here, I will take a shower back at your accommodation. I shan't be long. Rest assured I'll be gone before you return."

She felt a peculiar pang of disappointment in her chest. It gathered there, spreading to her guts, making her feel quite sickened. She'd even go so far as to describe herself as feeling inexplicably saddened.

She was being ridiculous, she knew that. What else had she been expecting? For him to stick around? Maybe suggest going to dinner, or hell,  at least for a few drinks?  
And holy shit she could use a drink after what they'd just done.  
But it wasn't likely to happen. He was making it blindingly clear there was absolutely no way he'd be interested in offering, and her pride wouldn't permit her to suggest it to him. She'd sooner die first.

For some reason she avoided making eye contact with him, instead she straightened her ripped clothes as best she could, so at the very least her naked ass wasn't on show. Thank God for the bag she'd brought along to the gym with her, which contained her yoga shorts.

By now Loki had already turned to leave, stopping at the door only long enough to cast a final glance back, and say maliciously...

"Oh, and there's no need to thank me for relieving you of your purity. You're welcome, Miss Romanoff. The pleasure was all mine."

Her watery gaze lifted long enough to see the smug grin on his arrogant face, but for the first time in her life, she was at a complete loss. Unable to think of a witty comeback or suitably scathing reply.

And then it was too late anyway. He was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

What had she been thinking?

Natasha couldn't quite fathom what she'd been thinking. Only some fleeting lapse of brain function could be responsible for her loss of common sense.

That is, not her allowing Loki to take her virginity, but rather allowing him to take control of the situation. To be ordered to stay and shower in the hotel whilst he helped himself to her bungalow. 

She had to hand it to him, the man had some fucking nerve.

His high-handed manner and his peremptory tone infuriated her, and if it hadn't been for her being in some sort of daze after he'd finished having his wicked way with her, she would have, under normal circumstances, told him to go F himself.

But who was she kidding? These were far from being normal circumstances. There was nothing remotely normal about him or the situation. Which had most definitely gone in his favour. Needless to say, if he were like any other guy she'd met then her virginity would still be in tact right now.   
Still, regardless of how slow in the head his cock had made her -- or rather, the hormones as a result of how he'd aroused her -- to let him him get away with ordering her around went against everything she was and everything she stood for.

If she was absolutely honest, she'd have to own that she'd been too preoccupied with her physical pain, once the dirty deed was over and the adrenaline ceased coursing through her veins. And then deeper, more complex emotions had arisen, which literally added insult to injury. Irrational thoughts of abandonment, feelings of shame and even humiliation, alarmingly made her feel like she could cry. Not that she would of course. She was hardier than that. The same applied to her high pain threshold. Anyone who hadn't become so hardened to physical pain and discomfort would not have been able to withstand what she'd just withstood, without sobbing and begging for mercy.

But as for her low mood, self-pity was pointless. There was no point dwelling on what couldn't be changed. 

Pushing aside thoughts of mistreatment at his hands, a hollowed-out feeling of numbness had taken hold. She'd been so close to stepping into the shower. To turning the water on. When all at once her mind seemed to clear, and she found herself scowling, disappointed at her own feebleness. Then the numb feeling had been superseded by the swirl of anger in her stomach. Obeying his unreasonable commands was out of the question. To behave so meekly was completely out of character for her.   
The man had taken her virginity, not her backbone.

Well, she would just have to fix this right now. 

Bitch needed putting in his place.

She dressed hurriedly and angrily, yanking her yoga shorts on with such vigour she almost ripped them, and left the hotel like a whirling, tempestuous cyclone, willing to destroy anything that had the misfortune to stumble across her path.

Back at the bungalow, Loki stood under the warm jets of water, raking his fingers through his shampooed hair. 

He smiled contentedly, feeling more than just a little pleased with himself. In actual fact, he was downright grinning with satisfaction, like the proverbial cat that got the cream. 

Or in this instance, the God that got the Black Widow.

His earlier nausea had long disappeared, his carnal activities having proved to be a wonderfully effective diversion. Even his headache was subsiding.   
Who'd have thought indulging in an early-morning passionate tryst would prove to be so beneficial as well as enjoyable.

He could easily get addicted to this. To her.

Coupling with the beautiful Agent Romanoff had been one of the most sexually gratifying experiences of his ludicrously long life. The feel of her tight little quim gripping his cock like a pair of pincers, felt utterly divine, and he felt the flush of renewed arousal at the memory. 

Hm.

He had somewhat naively hoped that the elicit memories would serve to keep him warm for many a night to come. Maybe even provide him with enough stimulation to satisfy his own needs, during another lengthy period of celibacy.  
Now he wasn't so convinced.  
To his chagrin, abstinence would he bitterly hard to endure after such a delightful encounter. Already he felt the blindingly obvious yen for more.

Just then, the door of the bathroom slammed open, hitting the wall with such force it almost ricocheted shut.

Startled, Loki whirled around, and blinked with irrepressible surprise.

"Miss Romanaoff. Didn't your parents teach you to knock before entering a room?" He fired at her, in a biting tone of voice.

She glared at him from the doorway with a look that would no doubt effectively strip paint. He was standing, completely naked of course, covered in soap and looking utterly perplexed. Before she could help herself, her traitorous eyes raked over his fine body in appreciative assessment. Every inch of him was sculpted, solid and sinewy. The water glistened on his pale, velvety skin, gleaming like the most precious marble, making him look beautifully statuesque. And his semi-aroused sex, she couldn't help noticing, was alarmingly big and perfectly formed, just as aesthetically pleasing as the rest of him. 

"Have you come to join me?" He quipped, grinning crookedly.

Dragging her eyes back up to his face, she eyed him disdainfully. "Get out." She said with eerie calmness, not even displaying a fraction of the anger she felt.

A crease appeared between Loki's dark brows. "I beg your pardon?"

Natasha folded her arms firmly across her chest. "Do you have water in your ears? I said get out."

"My hearing is perfectly adequate thank you."

"Your hearing might be, but your understanding is obviously lacking. Don't make me repeat myself, it bores me. This is my shower, and I'm going to use it. So get the hell out."

Never one to shy away from what he perceived as a challenge, Loki defiantly stayed where he was, secretly wondering what she might do next.   
Standing motionless like a glistening statue, Natasha absently thought how he rivalled such works of art like Michelangelo's David. But now was not the time to be distracted by his exotic beauty. 

It was obvious he wasn't going to comply, so she strode across the room and unexpectedly reached up to grab a fistful of his wet hair.

"You said no more games, so get.....out!"

"Ow! Take it easy, tiger!" He hissed through clenched teeth, as she tugged on his hair painfully, pulling him forwards from the cubicle with such force he had no choice other than to follow, for fear of her tearing it out at the root.

And that would never do. His luscious mane of dark hair was, in his opinion, his crowning glory.

Once he was out, she shoved his tall frame forwards aggressively, then let go.   
Loki stumbled a little, rubbed his head, and glowered at her. His beautiful aquamarine eyes narrowed,  looking hard and glacial, but for once he remained silent.

As much as she disliked being glared at with eyes like marbled glass, she opted to ignore him, and began removing her clothing as if he wasn't even there.

Loki looked-on with unexpressed admiration and delight. She was fiery and bold as well as beautiful, which just added to her appeal. The water bounced off her exquisite body, sending up little rainbows in the mist. Taking the bar of soap in her small hands, she lathered it into a foam and began rubbing it over herself. The mounds of her pert breasts, the rosy peaks of her nipples, her smooth athletic legs, the curve of her backside, and then....then that sweet place between her thighs where she'd previously accommodated him.

"Enjoying the show, asshole?" She enquired bluntly, after darting a look at him and seeing his gravity defying erection rearing up proudly.

"Immensely. I assume it's entirely for my benefit, is it not?"

"No. But I guess you would think that, you fucking egomaniac."

Loki's expression darkened. Her derogatory name-calling and denial vexed him. Regardless of her false claims, he knew her exhibitionism was intentional. She was deliberately trying to provoke him, slipping her soap-slicked hand teasingly through the dark red curls above her sex.   
As he stood naked and unashamed, he knew his arousal was blatantly obvious. His cock throbbed with excitement, and he had to battle the primitive temptation to feel her wet skin against his own, to lift her up, wrap her legs around his waist, and take her again. 

But he resisted. 

Loki Laufeyson would not become a slave to his desires. Not to mention the fact that she was in a foul mood, so forcing his depraved attentions on her would be a brave -- and possibly stupid -- move to make. He was in no humour to engage in a physical fight. It was too tedious, exhausting, and time consuming.

Natasha continued to clean herself, washing away the blood. She winced slightly, feeling decidedly sore. Her insides felt bruised, but she wouldn't let the discomfort deter her. Training in the Red Room had taught her how to tolerate pain. To endure the suffering until you developed an immunity to the specific cause.   
Sex wouldn't hurt once she'd done it a few more times.

Deciding it was best to leave in order to overcome the addiction to agent Romanoff's feminine wiles, Loki took a towel from the rail and began rubbing himself down in a way that was subtly provocative. He could sense her watching him. He could feel the heat of her gaze on his body. His skin prickled. His nerve endings tingled. The atmosphere in the steam-filled room was so heavily charged, it felt like an invisible shaft of electricity was arcing between them, and he knew then that she was just as aware of him as he was of her.

Having washed herself thoroughly, Natasha turned off the shower and stepped out of the cubicle. Loki watched with interest as she took a towel for herself, wrapped it around her slender frame, then made her way passed him without so much as a glance in his direction.

Confounded woman, he thought bitterly. Her behaviour was infuriatingly contradictory.

Inflamed, he discarded the towel and went back into the room to retrieve his clothing. She hadn't ordered him out of the bungalow yet, but he wasn't going to give her the opportunity, the satisfaction, of doing so. He'd obliged her by not resisting when she'd man-handled him out of the shower, but he wouldn't be so complacent if she was going to attempt to throw him out completely. Instead he would leave of his own accord now that he'd cleaned himself up.

As he leaned over to pick the clothes up from the back of the chair he'd draped them on, he suddenly felt the warm touch of her hand on his shoulder. He stilled, allowing her to trace down along the outline of his muscular bicep.

"Your gunshot wound seems to have healed quickly." She observed. "It's as if it never even happened. Which it did. I saw it. I'm not losing my mind."

Damn. He'd forgotten all about his fake wound, not having had time to cast an illusion due to her unexpected arrival.

"I heal remarkably well."

"Clearly." She said disbelievingly. "What are you some sort of elite, master race?"

Disconcerted, he turned slowly toward her and her hand fell away, but she didn't move. She was standing awfully close, and, if he wasn't mistaken -- which he rarely was -- she was staring at him with a concentrated focus that he recognised as hunger. He knew this instinctively, because he hungered for her as well.

Eventually after a lengthy silence, she spoke. And what she said took him completely by surprise.

"Do you remember what you told me when you said what you'd like to do to me? You said you'd fuck me again and again."

One elegant black brow arched as he looked at her quizzically. "Did I really?"

A wry smile ghosted her full lips. "Yes you did. But so far you've only fucked me once."

His breath hitched in his throat as she reached out to touch his chest, her hand burning a path down across the well-defined contours of his solid abdominal muscles.

"Am I right in saying that you want me, Miss Romanoff?" He ventured cautiously, his voice surprisingly steady given how excited he was now.

Natasha brazenly took his hardened length in her hand, her curious fingers curling around his sturdy shaft, stroking him in a way that caused his cock to jump and twitch as if it had a life of it's own, and he growled his approval.

He felt hot and heavy in her palm, and even though her insides were tender, a dark primal need had taken hold of her. "I want us to do it again."

For several furious heartbeats Loki contemplated turning down her proposition. Contemplated, then promptly dismissed the absurdity of such a refusal. Ordinarily he would have resisted, denied her just to be defiant and malicious. But the prospect of ravishing her again was all too enticing. So without any further deliberation his arms encircled her waist, hauling her closer so he could lean down and catch her lips in a deep, sensual kiss.

Her lips moved against his and she moaned into his mouth as she took little sips of his sweet, hot, racing breath. 

Loki's thoughts spiralled. He hadn't expected this. Admittedly he had found himself quietly hoping for it, but he hadn't been expecting it to happen, and he was far too proud to have initiated it himself.

The next thing he knew, they were moving. Moving like two lovers locked in a passionate clinch, as she pushed him towards the bed and he allowed her to.

They tumbled backwards onto the firm mattress, kissing like two people who hadn't been kissed in years, and now they were making up for all that lost time. Her hands were everywhere, touching his sinewy body, relishing the feel of his damp, clean skin and the way his muscles bunched and tightened beneath her touch.

The heat of his passion consumed him, threatening to reduce him to a pile of smouldering ashes. He wanted to taste her. To pleasure her. To take his own sweet time and apply more sensuous care and attention.

Leaning above her, his large hands pulled the knot in the towel apart. It relented, falling away to bear her beautiful body to his hungry eyes.

Her heart thudded frantically in her chest. He turned her on so damn much it drove her to distraction. Her breathing quickened as he took her breasts in a slow roll of his hands, kneading her flesh languidly, then he bent and sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, manipulating it with his velvety tongue until it rose into a hardened little nub.

Natasha's hands thrusted into his raven hair, twisting his silky wet locks between her fingers while he lavished each breast with his erotic devotion, kissing, suckling and nipping gently until they gleamed as a result of his tantalising ministrations.

"You are dazzling." He rasped, placing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her ribs, then her navel, moving effortlessly down her body until he reached his wet, warm target.

She gasped as he settled himself between her trembling thighs, a lock of his dark hair, black as ink against her creamy-white skin, fell loose over his forehead, tickling her pelvic bone. His kisses travelled downwards, and she felt them run over the soft lips of her slit, teasing them open with his skilful tongue. Desire pooled in her belly as want flooded her body, making her ache with longing at her very core.

Loki groaned softly as she unconsciously pushed against him, the sound sending sweet vibrations along her skin. Slowly, and very deliberately, he enveloped her clit with his mouth. And then sucked.

"My God!" She exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

'You have no idea' he thought to himself, smugly.

Her grip on his hair tightened painfully, and she moaned as he pushed his tongue into her, deeper and deeper, devouring her arousal like a sweet elixir. His cock twitched with need as he lapped at her greedily, sliding his hands beneath her rear so that he could lift her to him like an offering. He was unbearably hard. He wanted to take her, to fill her, but the reactions his tongue drew from her were too delectable.

She came apart quickly, his expert, fluttering dips with the tip of his tongue, nudged her into blissful ecstasy. He stilled instantly when he knew her orgasm had hit. Her thighs tightened around his head, and she cried out, shuddering and writhing against him. Stars studded her vision. A violent pleasure whiplashed through her entire body, splintering shards of tingling heat that made her go limp.  
By some miracle she remained vaguely aware of Loki hovering over her, his heated gaze locked on her as though transfixed by the sight of her trembling body, of what he had done to her.

He moved back up the bed over her on all fours, considering allowing her time to recover. But to his delighted surprise she suddenly placed her hands on his chest, urging him to roll over. He needed no persuading, and willingly let her bear him back against the mattress, where she climbed atop him, straddling his narrow waist.   
He bit back a self-satisfied smile. 

Miss Romanoff was going to ride him, and it would be glorious.

She wavered against him teasingly in preparation. She was so enticingly wet, and he was irrefutably hard, which enabled her to carefully sink down onto him slowly with controlled precision.  
They gasped in unison as she slid onto his pulsing cock. Their eyes locked, and for a few moments they both remained absolutely still. The sharp sting of his penetration was still shockingly painful, but she gritted her teeth until she felt the walls of her sex ease around him, and the surge of adrenaline that followed helped diffuse the agony.

And then, she moved.

Now it was Loki's turn to let out a small moan, as she used the muscles of her toned thighs to lever herself up and down onto the masculine column of his sex, over and over again. His hands slid beneath the mounds of her ass again, this time to guide her movements, following a gentle pace. She whimpered and leaned towards him, so that their noses were only a fraction apart. Ensuring her movements were making the most of him, she rolled her hips against his eagerly.

She may have been a novice, but what she lacked in experience she certainly made up for with enthusiasm.

"Yes. Just like that, Natasha." He whispered lustful encouragements, as instinct led him to jerk his pelvis upwards to meet her grinding. "That's good. I want you to come again for me."

Any chance of that not happening was diminished even further, as to her utter vexation, she actually found his lascivious command arousing.  

"I fucking hate you." Natasha muttered churlishly, breathlessly, as she rocked back and forth, finding a rhythm.

A twisted smirk pulled at the corner of Loki's mouth. "And I love fucking you."

His crude remark had the most unsettling effect on Natasha. It caused her desire to spike, and a pleasant chill raced over her damp skin. The pain was gradually subsiding, fading now to a dull throbbing ache rather than a sharp stabbing sensation.

She moved to catch his mouth with her lips, their tongues entwining hungrily whilst he shifted beneath her to enhance sensitivity as they gained momentum. His sole purpose now was to make her come apart before he did.

Her movements sped, and she began riding him hard as he drove into her with greater force. Natasha's eyes slid shut without her realising, succumbing to the pure, primal, sensory delight of having him encased deep inside her, pinned beneath her.   
It felt startling good to have some fraction of power over this sensual, domineering man.

They broke for air, their breath now coming in hampered gasps as the sweet sensations intensified. She leaned back, arching her body for him beautifully. Now fully bared to him, his lust for her came to a fevered peak. Her perfect breasts bounced erotically with her movements. Her flowing curves tantalised him. Her keening thrilled him and gave him power, the one thing that he loved most.

His hands gripped her buttocks more tightly, as the sensory overload sent him hurtling abruptly beyond the point of no return, just as an equally defeating orgasm crept up on her.

"Oh...shit--!" He cursed, the words dissolving into a low groan as his climax peaked and racked his body.  
Reaching out, his hands balled into the sheets at his sides, his entire body shaking aggressively beneath her as he felt himself internally falling, crashing and collapsing in on himself.

Natasha moaned-out his name. Her orgasm was so different to the fantastic one conducted by the sweet rhythm of his sinful tongue. It was deceptively longer, seemingly lasting for minutes rather than mere moments. There was no violent shudders, yet it felt deeper somehow, erupting magnificently slowly from deep inside as if from the very fabric of her being, and filtering outwards until she felt it glowing and tingling in her bones.

Gasping and moaning as his release spilled inside her with lucid force, her moans turned to cries of euphoria, and Loki stroked the side of her face tenderly.

It took a great amount of effort for her to prise open her heavy lids, but she succeeded, focusing on his devilish features, now shimmering with sweat, as he gazed up at her, barely coherent, his eyes like two glistening obsidian pools.

She felt herself crumple and they moved together to roll over on the bed, their legs entwined with each others, tangled up in the damp, twisted sheets.  
They lay in satiated silence save for their shared panting, and Natasha took the opportunity to examine him with keen interest.  
His clever face was more shuttered than ever before, and impossibly handsome. Those neat, attractive features seemed to be carved from stone, and she tried to memorise every line, each texture. She wanted to remember every single detail, so that she could file it away in her memory. Then conjure images of him in her minds eye, and hold him there for years to come.

But she wouldn't allow herself to yearn for something more. To yearn for him.   
And she couldn't afford to bathe in the afterglow for too long. It was proving to be unnervingly enjoyable. 

After several long, blissful minutes, she forced herself to move, to extricate herself from his intimate, warm, erotic embrace.

Loki grunted disapprovingly, moving grudgingly so she could disentangle herself from his long limbs. His eyes fluttered open to see her rise from the bed and disappear into the bathroom. She returned a minute later, clad in a fluffy white hotel bathrobe.   
Her complexion was a pleasing shade of pink due to their arduous activities, and her flame hair was mussed. She looked flushed and radiant, natural and....so beautiful.   
Much to his alarm, he found himself wondering what it would be like to see her everyday. Like this. Casual and at ease, after having had wildly fantastic sex with him.   
Only him.  
And how would it feel, to hold her close afterwards. To absorb her warmth, to be held in return. To feel wanted.  
No. He quickly checked himself. It wouldn't do to become so whimsical and attached to a woman. He found the very idea of such sentiment quite idiotic.

Seeing Loki sprawled naked in all his glory across her bed like some centrefold model, Natasha felt a deep sense of longing, along with a stab of irrational resentment.   
God dammit, why did he have to be so infuriatingly attractive?   
He'd awakened some dark, carnal desire in her, and now she was thinking too much of him would never be enough. And she resented him for it.

Walking across to the chair, She took hold of his clothes and tossed them at him with a startling amount of force.

"Get dressed." She ordered. "You need to leave."

Jolted, Loki sat up abruptly and stared at her in apparent astonishment. "You want me to leave?"

"That's what I said." She replied, coldly. "Do you have some kind of difficulty understanding English?"

"No Miss Romanoff, I have difficulty understanding you."

Her words had doused his post-orgasmic bliss more effectively than if she'd thrown a glass of ice cold water in his face. He was affronted, deeply confused, and worryingly....reluctant. Reluctant to go. Reluctant to leave her.

But his pride would not permit him to protest. Instead he proceeded to get up, and slowly get dressed.

Natasha watched him step into his trousers, pulling them up his long legs, then slip on his shirt, covering the gorgeous expanse of his chest.   
She found herself wondering if she really wanted him to go, but deep down she knew the answer and didn't like it. This had to stop. Enough was enough. This had to be where it ended.

Using his fingers he smoothed out his unruly hair, which she'd sculpted into a bed-tousled mess. For a brief moment she met his eyes, but the baleful look in them stirred a pang of sympathy, a yearning, deep within the cavity of her chest. And she had to look away. She just had to. She couldn't bear him looking at her so softly and sadly, betraying a tenderness she'd never believed he possessed.  
He had no right to look at her that way. Absolutely no damn right.

"Are you absolutely certain that you want me to go?" He asked, looking at her enquiringly, not wanting to accept that it was true. He had tried to keep quiet. To not object. And now he loathed himself for sounding so pathetic.   
In a vain attempt to claw back some dignity he attempted to mask his irrational neediness with arrogance. "Very well. It's your loss."

"If you say so."

His nostrils flared with indignation. "Need I remind you that you were the one who wanted to make love again?"

She laughed without mirth. "Make love? Is that what it is now? Since when has it been that? I thought it was just fucking, right?"

"Don't be pedantic Natasha--"

"I'm not being pedantic, and stop calling me Natasha!"

"Why? It is your name after all."  He said dryly. "Or do you wear so many faces that you've forgotten who you really are? What you are. A woman first, not just a trained assassin, a puppet to do the deeds for those who refuse to get their own hands dirty."

"Stop it! You know nothing about me, or my life." 

"I know enough. Such as your numerous identities and the way you use your feminine charms to beguile your hapless victims. Tell me, how does it feel to be with a man of your own choice? It must be a novel experience for you."

"This has nothing to do with my work, which by the way is none of your damn business! And for your information, the reason I don't want you calling me by my name is because it's getting way too familiar for my liking." Sighing, she tore her eyes away from him in order to go to the door. "Familiarity is pointless when you're leaving now."

Loki's jaw tightened in agitation, the muscles in his handsome face flexing. "If you want to be rid of me so urgently, then why, may I ask, did you wish me to bed you again?"

"I already told you why. I just wanted to do it again, that's all. It's no big deal."

"Is it not?" He persisted, then internally cringed. How pitiful and desperate he must seem to her. Never before had his silver tongue or sharp intellect failed him so badly. But her rejection stung, like salt being rubbed into an open wound. "Is it truly no big deal? You surrendered your virginity to me."

"Yes so? I let you have what you wanted. I owed you for helping me out with Comineza."

"Owed me?" Loki grated, staring at her agog, as though mortally offended. "You mean to tell me that you offered your body to me as repayment for my assistance?"

Natasha gave a casual shrug of the shoulders.

"Then what was the repeat performance in aid of? Tell me!" He demanded, gesticulating wildly in the general direction of the bed.

She gave an impatient huff and opened the door, holding it ajar for him by way of giving a less-than-subtle hint. "I wanted to do it one last time before we go our separate ways and never see each other again."

Loki's brittle heart quivered ominously in his chest. "Well there must be a reason why you wanted to. Isn't there?"

"Not particularly, no." She lied. "I just wanted to see how it felt second time around." She rotated her hand encouragingly in a gesture for him to leave. "Now go. We're done here."

Loki straightened, regaining his composure. He was on the brink of losing his temper, which he couldn't afford to do. She had provided him with an explanation, regardless of how unsatisfactory he found it to be? Now he had to leave with at least a shred of his dignity still in tact. As much as he didn't want to walk out of the door and out of her life forever, he wouldn't let her know. And to keep arguing the point would betray his reluctance, which would inevitably be an admittance of his guilt.

"Fine." He managed, his velvety voice sounding more like barbed wire. "As you wish."

And with that he collected his jacket, squared his shoulders, and left without looking back. Leaving Natasha alone, with only her memories and regrets to keep her company.


	8. Chapter 8

"I'll take another, and make it a double this time."

The woman behind the bar smiled at the brooding stranger in spite of his brusque tone, as she took his empty glass.

"Coming right up, sir."

For the first time since entering the bar, Loki looked at her properly, giving her his full attention. She had called him sir, and he liked that. It appealed to the dark, authoritative part of his nature that craved subjugation, obedience, and respect from others.  
The particular shade of her long, flaxen hair was a little brassy for his liking, her make-up somewhat heavy and overdone, but she was pretty enough. Perhaps a harmless flirtation would serve as a distraction.

But no. Even as she placed his drink on the bar, taking the money from him with another coquettish smile, he realised that he had no stomach for it.  
Natasha Romanoff's dismissiveness towards him had put him in the blackest of moods, and after her, no other Midgardian female seemed worthy enough to warrant his attention.

"Keep the change for yourself. Have a drink on me." He offered placatingly, being far more generous than he felt inclined to be.

"Thanks." She replied, but Loki had already turned abruptly away.

He had wiled away the day wandering aimlessly, and this bar he had happened upon was less sophisticated than the other, and much further down the beach. But he'd gone there after having decided it best to put some distance between himself and Natasha, if he was to successfully avoid running into her again.

He could have left altogether. Could have conjured the Tesseract and taken his chances by teleporting somewhere else. Anywhere else. And so what if he ended up inadvertently travelling through time as well as space again? He had nothing to lose, and there was nothing worth sticking around here for. 

Even the prospect of seducing the woman tending the bar, if not for any other reason than to perhaps get Agent Romanoff out of his system, was not enticing enough to keep him here. In fact, to be away from the place would more than likely be the best solution. There'd be adventure and plenty of mischief to be found elsewhere.

And yet, for reasons that mystified his own logic, he couldn't quite bring himself to leave. Not just yet.

So instead, he'd resigned himself to consuming copious amounts of whiskey, with the purpose of getting blind drunk. Though it was proving to be more difficult than he'd anticipated. Midgardian alcohol was far less potent than Asgardian ale, so he was nowhere near to being as inebriated as he would've liked. Not yet at least.

Sitting himself back down at his preferred spot in the corner, his fingers absently drummed against the surface of the table. Seeking solace in alcohol was not one of his characteristics. That was something Thor had always been more inclined to do, whilst Loki had always advised him that solutions were never to be found at the bottom of an empty beer tankard.

Now he was willing to take his chances, and give it his best shot.

Losing himself in his thoughts, he paid no heed to the sound of someone else entering the bar. It was only when he sensed their presence loitering close by did he pay attention and look up.

"I might've guessed you'd be here. I can't seem to get away from you."

To Loki's surprise and irritation, Natasha Romanoff was standing in front of him.  
She was a vision to behold, looking like an Olympian Goddess in a long, white, beautiful Grecian-style dress, her auburn tresses falling around her face in soft curls.

His jaw clenched in agitation, his hands involuntarily balling into fists. "Can you not allow a man to drink in peace? I came here with the express intention of avoiding you."

She raised an eyebrow, as though silently mocking him. "I'm flattered you'd go to so much trouble on my account. I only came to this dump because it would be dumb to go back to the place where I was last seen in Comineza's company."

"Very wise." He said disinterestedly, then took a long swig of his drink and made a point of refusing to look at her. "It would be wiser still to leave me alone, Miss Romanoff."

"Gee, you sure are a touchy one aren't you?"

His eyes snapped to her face, flashing dangerously. Her indifference towards him even now, after what they had done together, enraged him.

"And it is very unwise of you to provoke me. Now kindly remove yourself from my presence, madam."

Defiantly, she lingered for a moment, regarding him coldly. "That's fine by me. You're shitty company anyway."

With that she went to the bar, leaving Loki to glare at her back, as if telepathically wanting to burn two holes straight through her with his retinas.  
Once she had her drink, he deliberately averted his gaze once more, choosing instead to glower angrily at his glass, as though he could break it with a look.

Time seemed to drag by infuriatingly slowly. The bar was dead and almost eerily silent, save for the background babble coming from the small television mounted on the wall. The ambience was severely lacking, and the atmosphere was fraught with a strained tension.

Draining his glass, Loki slammed it down unnecessarily hard, which gained the attention of the barmaid. Before he knew it, she was hovering over him attentively.

"Is there anything else I can get you?" She smiled hopefully, her enquiry tinged with perceptible suggestiveness.

From across the room, Natasha observed silently with morbid interest. She couldn't help having noticed the way in which the woman had swayed up to Loki with fevered, uninhibited, enthusiasm. Ogling him brazenly without shame, without any decorum.  
And now Natasha found herself waiting with bated breath, straining to hear Loki's response.

As it happened, when it came it was loud enough for her to hear without even having to try.

"Some company?" He ventured, in his most sensual voice.

God, that voice was incredible. Natasha lamented bitterly. It was deep and velvety. Very sexy. A little threatening, and utterly unnerving.

"Would you care to join me?" He was asking the barmaid now, firing a dazzling, disarming smile straight into her eyes. It was so bright it seemed to cut right through the dreary gloominess of their surroundings, lighting the entire room as well as his face.

Predictably the woman fluttered and let out a breathless little sigh, acting typically bashful whilst looking at him in that lustful way that Natasha had grown accustomed to seeing women do when they were attracted to a man.  
Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she continued to sip her drink, ignoring them as the woman pulled out a chair and joined him at his table.

He could speak to whoever he wanted to. It was nothing to do with Natasha, and why should she care? She couldn't care less, she told herself, somewhat unconvincingly.

But her eyes kept overriding her thoughts, traitorously darting stolen glances at the pair. They were now leaning across the table, their heads inclined in deep, intimate conversation. His voice had lowered to an inaudible low rumble, and she was gazing at him in unabashed wonder, as if he was sharing all the secrets of the universe with her.

Hmph. He hadn't shared anything with her. Well, he had shared his body.  
That beautiful, powerful, sinewy body, that she'd touched, and rolled herself against in wild abandon. The memory of it caused Natasha to heat up against her will. Sleeping with him had been an eye-opening, life-altering  experience. But she still felt dissatisfied.

She wanted more. More of him. To get closer to him, not just physically but mentally, emotionally.

Now it looked as though he was getting close to another. Sharing more of himself than he had with her. And he no doubt would be once the bar had closed for the night.  
He'd take his new flirt back to his room, or perhaps they'd go to hers, and they they would....

Ugh. She didn't want to think about it. Bile threatened to rise in the back of her throat, and she fought not to throw up in her mouth.

This was stupid. What was happening to her? Natasha barely recognised or understood herself anymore. She was stricken, becoming  lost to childish bitterness and resentful thoughts. Battling with feelings she'd never encountered before. Silently she cursed Loki for unbalancing the equilibrium of her life.  
Up until now, she though she had always been so solidly sensible and emotionally detached. Matters of the heart, had never arisen. A firm believer in love being a childish notion, she'd never suffered from unrequited love, or been particularly attracted to anyone. Nor had she been tempted to engage in a passionate love affair with someone, or been consumed with desire. 

And now, thanks to the mysterious, beguiling Loki, she was experiencing irresistible lust for the first time in her life. And boy did she hate him for it.  
Having to witness him cozying up to another woman, left her feeling cold, and somehow hollow inside. It was ridiculous. This just wasn't how she operated.

Just then the woman rose, pushing her chair back, and headed off to the ladies room.

For one split second, Natasha contemplated following her.  
But to do what?  
To warn her off? To kick her ass? She didn't know.

All she did know was that he was responsible for making her think about resorting to such immature, drastic measures. And it infuriated her.  
Who was he, Loki no-last-name, to come barging into her life, involving himself in her business, uninvited, and then turn everything upside down?

To hell with it, she couldn't tolerate it a second longer.

Abandoning her drink, she picked up her purse and strode purposely for the door. Chancing one last glance at him, she caught him looking at her, and suddenly she became incensed, and all her resentment came pouring out.

"You waste no time I see. I almost feel sorry for her. Almost."

Loki matched her gaze with a cold, soulless death-stare of his own. "And just what business is it of yours?"

"None. That is unless you regularly pick up women in bars. In which case you should have warned me. I had thought you were perhaps a little too classy for that, I guess I was wrong. That's my bad. But how was I to know? I know nothing about you."

"Just what are you implying precisely, Miss Romanoff?" He grated.

She threw him an almost pitying look. "I'm implying that if you're a player--"

"Player?"

"Yes a player, a male whore, then I would never have slept with you. I don't wanna catch anything nasty after all."

At that Loki flew into a sudden rage. Slamming his hands down hard on the table, he leaped to his feet with such vigour his chair toppled over behind him and clattered to the floor due to his brusque movements.

"How dare you! You're insufferable. For your information Miss Romanoff, I am not in the habit of bedding tavern wenches. But I am inclined to believe you're deliberately trying to antagonise me!"

"Believe whatever the hell you like. Maybe you're the one who's trying to antagonise me by chatting up some barroom slut!" She hurled back at him.

"If that is the case then judging by your jealous reaction, I would appear to have succeeded." He levelled at her, his lips curling into a sickeningly triumphant smile.

Bastard.

A small crease appeared between her neat brows. "Like I said, you can believe whatever you like, jackass."

With that she left, throwing Loki into a conundrum. He was far too proud to go after her. He wouldn't lose face by doing so. But taking her abrupt departure into consideration -- he noted the unfinished drink she had left on the table -- he could only deduce that his plan to rile her had worked beautifully. But in order for it to pay off, he would need to pursue her if he was to discover exactly what her jealousy meant.

Did she desire to have him more? Dislike the idea of him coupling with another? Or did her attraction run deeper?

The need to know tugged at him like an invisible thread, pulling him to follow her.  
As much as he was loathed to give in to the maddening need, he found himself following her. Following like a foolish puppet, and Natasha Romanoff held the strings.

Cloaking himself with invisibility, he stealthily stalked after her. She was walking fast, but not in the direction he had expected. She was going further away from the resort, away from the busiest part of the beach, following the shoreline.

Eventually her pace slowed to a casual meander, and she slipped off her shoes. Carrying them in her hand so she could walk barefoot along the sand where the gentle, rippling tide met the shore, lapping at her toes.

The beach curved round at it's most Southern point, where it was lined with a tall, jagged cliff-face. As she rounded the bend she found herself in a cove. It was secluded and felt wonderfully cut-off from the rest of the population.  
The world even.  
Most people went on vacation abroad to relax or party. At this hour most of the guests would be dining, sleeping, or drinking in the various clubs and bars, not wandering around isolated areas at the base of the cliffs in the failing light.

Settling herself down on the sand, Natasha drew in a deep, calming breath. Inhaling lungfuls of the refreshing, salty, night air. The walk had helped clear her mind a little, and she was enjoying the quiet. From across the other side of the bay, twinkling lights lit the horizon prettily, and above her the sky looked like a beautiful canopy of deep blue hues painted with a million stars that shone like diamonds.

It was blissful. It was beautiful. Yet for some inexplicable reason her feeling of inner-peace suddenly became tainted by a feeling of loneliness. It settled in her chest and made itself comfortable there, making her heart feel heavy, and empty.

From nearby Loki watched as she sat with her knees drawn up to her chest, in the manner of a worried child. Her arms hugged her knees tightly, and her aura seemed tinged with sombreness. Suddenly she seemed vulnerable. Fragile even. And so young. Certainly so much more delicate than her sassy, worldly-wise, 2012 year old self.

Then she began to cry.

Silent tears forced their way through her long lashes, even though she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting the irrational sorrow hard. But still she wept, the tears seeping out like sap from a cut on a tree.

She could make no sense of it. She couldn't even recall the last time she had cried. It was most definitely during her childhood. Probably when she'd been chosen for the Red Room, and had to engage in combat with the other young orphans, fighting to the death. Survival of the strongest, quickest, the most ruthless.  
Madame B had told her she was unbreakable, like marble. And Natasha had had to be. She'd certainly had to adopt that way of thinking. Wearing a mask of impassive, stoical indifference. Unfeeling. Unrelenting. Showing no weakness or mercy.  
Her training had dehumanised her. 

But what had Loki said to her earlier that day?

'Do you wear so many faces that you've forgotten who you really are? What you are. A woman first, not just a trained assassin..'

Damn him. His words had circled around her brain, and somehow penetrated the part of her where Natasha never allowed anything to go. The place that she'd kept locked and sealed for the longest time.  
Her heart.  
He'd stirred-up feelings and emotions she didn't even realise she possessed. Feelings she didn't think she'd be capable of experiencing.

He had acknowledged her as a woman, a person, not just objectified her like all the others. Her mentor, Madame B, had strictly opposed and discouraged relationships with members of the opposite sex, and yet encouraged Natasha to flaunt her sexuality in order to seduce and manipulate her targets, her victims. The hypocrisy was staggering, and partly due to Natasha's rebellious nature, she'd thrown caution to the wind and behaved so recklessly with Loki.

A small laugh of amusement escaped her, as she roughly brushed the tears away.

How ironic it was, that such an inscrutable man who seemed so devoid of feeling and empathy, had acknowledged her humanity. And now she was reassessing her life, searching the hidden depths of her tarnished soul. He'd broken down the barriers, ventured into the uncharted territory, shining a light into the darkest corners, the places where her demons hid. Waking the monsters that should have been left sleeping, and now she was being forced to confront them rather than go on wallowing in denial.

It was then that she got the distinct impression that she wasn't alone. As if someone was watching her. And she wasn't wrong of course.

Turning her head she started a little in surprise when she saw the all-too-familiar figure of Loki, standing a few yards away.

Her tormentor had returned.

"I would've thought you'd have better things to do than spy on me." She said dryly, immediately becoming defensive.

He remained immobile, arms folded across his chest, like an impenetrable statue. "Yet here I am. It must be a peculiar feeling to be a spy and have someone spy on you in return."

"Were you sent to spy on me?"

"No. I serve no one. Who do you suppose would have assigned me to such a task?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. I just...." She faltered momentarily, searching for the right words. But none came. "....I figured you might've been sent to test me."

His dark brows drew together. "Test you in what way exactly?"

"It doesn't matter." She managed after a lengthy pause. "If it was a test, I'm pretty sure I failed."

Intrigued, Loki approached, coming to a halt above her, his hands thrust deep into his trouser pockets.

"Can you not allow your guard down and speak plainly, Miss Romanoff? Surely after having become so intimately aquatinted we can forgo speaking in riddles now."

"That's rich coming from you." She gazed up at him, a dark figure against the backdrop of the hazy, blue sky. "How about you tell me why you followed me out here? I'm guessing you have a reason, other than just being a total creep." 

Even when she was standing he stood at least a whole foot taller than her. Now she felt dwarfed by his impressive height as he loomed above her, like a dark angel cast out of heaven, and she had to tilt her head back to look at him properly.

"Actually I came to return this to you. It quite slipped my mind before."

She watched as he pulled her cell phone from his pocket and proffered it to her.

He could see she hadn't been expecting that, and he was relieved that it had occurred to him to use her phone as an excuse. What else would he have been able to say?  
That she had somehow worked her way under his skin like an irritant? That she had beguiled him? Him of all people, the God of Mischief, the chief game-player. He had fallen under the captivating spell of the Black Widow. Now he was caught in her web, and bizarrely, rather content to remain there.

She hesitated before taking the phone from him, staring down at it, her brow creased in deep thought. He had expected her to go through it. To check if it had been tampered with, her messages been accessed. But she didn't.

Natasha looked up only when she felt Loki sit down beside her, his ludicrously long legs stretched out in front of him, his black trousers in stark contrast to the white sand. When he spoke his voice came close to her ear, her bare arms turning to goose flesh as a result.

"What troubles you, Agent Romanoff?"

"Do you really wanna know?" She kept her gaze cast down, unwilling to risk meeting his inquisitive eyes, leaving herself wide open to his scrutiny. "I can't imagine you'd care. I mean, why would you? I wouldn't expect you to."

He let out a soft bark of laughter, seemingly amused.

"In spite of my better judgement, I find myself deeply curious. If I didn't care I wouldn't bother to ask." Reaching out, he gently caught the tip of her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and lifted her face to look at him. "Tell me."

She failed to suppress a small gasp, due to the intimacy of his gesture, and he smiled knowingly, pleased by the reaction his actions had caused.

Natasha held his deep gaze, and felt as if she was internally falling.

"I don't know...." She replied honestly. ".....it's like....I thought I knew myself better. Now I'm not so sure."

Loki's intrusive gaze softened noticeably, and he was looking at her, if she wasn't mistaken, in the failing light, shadows creeping in, with a look that could easily be taken for tenderness. If that was possible.

"You're young, and life is a journey of self-discovery." He said softly. His face was so close to her own, she felt his cool breath stir her hair.

She swallowed down the thickness in her throat, her voice unsteady. "Who are you? I mean, really? Or maybe I should be asking what are you? And I don't just mean a player, or an assassin. As weird as it seems I actually really believe you're neither of those things. You're too flamboyant, too much of a diva, to be an assassin. And when I accused you of being a player you went all Shakespearean on me." She laughed airily, though her mirth quickly subsided. She was so deeply confused. "You weren't kidding when you said there are no men like you. You don't seem real. You're like nothing I've ever known. That injection should have killed you. Your gunshot wound miraculously healed overnight. It's like you're a different species. A genetically-modified, enhanced being, I don't know, I can't explain it. I guess it sounds crazy. But I want you to explain it to me."

"Miss Romanoff, your imagination appears to be running wild. And this is becoming tiresome now don't you think? I've told you, repeatedly, who I am."

"Yes, Loki. That's it. That's all you've told me, and keep telling me. Your first name. Loki. Like the Norse trickster God, right? Are you from Scandinavia? Why won't you tell me more? Are you afraid I'll put a hit out on you? I might have done. But not now. All I want is to know....you."

Loki's heart lurched in his chest. Her unexpectedly referring to him -- the Norse God -- completely blindsided him for a moment, and all he could do was stare at her, his jaw feeling slack, his throat choked by unspoken words.

Natasha heaved a sigh of exasperation. "See. Nothing. You accuse me of being guarded, that's pretty hypocritical wouldn't you say?"

Climbing to her feet, Natasha wandered toward the edge of the shoreline, watching the tide roll out in clear, foaming, frothing waves. A recklessness stirred inside of her, brought on by the sheer frustration she was feeling. Without giving it a second thought, she raised her arm and hurled her cell phone into the sea with as much force as she could muster. She watched it disappear below the surface with a satisfying splash, swallowed-up by the ocean.

Loki's eyes rounded. The expression he wore was equal parts shock and consternation.

"That's your doing." She told him calmly, as she turned back slowly to face him.

"Mine? How so?"

She looked nervous now he realised, as she took her bottom lip between her teeth. Perhaps she was already regretting her hasty actions.

"Before I met you, I was only living half a life. It's like being around you, makes me feel alive. I guess you've shown me there's a difference between living and just existing. So I guess you've given me that if nothing else."

He rose slowly, his aqua eyes never leaving her face. Her emotional bravery deserved acknowledgment. Reward even. No one had ever said anything so profound to him before. The sensation was novel. Especially as he realised in a moment of unforgivingly harsh clarity, that the feeling was mutual. Being with Natasha breathed fresh life into his weary, blackened soul, creating renewed hope within him.

"Natasha...." He said, his voice low and rough with strangled emotion. He knew he should be wary, and proceed with caution, but the desire to feel unburdened, for once to be open, urged him on. "....that Norse God you spoke of. What do you know of him?"

Natasha's full pouty lips quirked into a bemused smile. "That's a random question."

"Please. Indulge me."

"Okaaay." She drew out the word, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Uh, let's see....not much really. Only what I read in books as a little kid. He was Thor's brother, right? The Lightning God--"

"Thunder." He interjected.

"Right, Thunder. Close enough. Um, Loki....he was mischievous and wicked, and...oh yeah, part frost monster or something."

Loki's face hardened. Feeling irrationally nauseated. Ashamed even. 

"Frost Giant." He corrected leadenly.

Natasha frowned, observing him quizzically. "Okay so he was a Frost Giant. What are you some sort of Norse mythology fanatic? What does it matter what he was?"

Loki sucked in a deep breath, trying to calm his irrational nerves. "It matters Agent Romanoff......because I am that God."


	9. Chapter 9

Natasha looked momentarily confused. Unsure of what to make of Loki's bizarre proclamation. She was frowning slightly, but her mouth kicked up at the corner in a bemused smile.

"Oh so you're THE Loki from Scandinavian legend." Her question sounded more like a statement, and her voice was gilded with sarcasm. "Because that makes sense."

Loki continued to stare at her unwaveringly, remaining eerily silent. Putting her in mind of the lull before a storm.

She gave a strained laugh. "How long were you in that bar for?"

"I am not inebriated, Miss Romanoff, if that is what you're insinuating."

Natasha's smile slowly faded as she realised he didn't appear to be joking. On the contrary, he looked deadly serious.

"You're....you're being serious?"

"Yes."

"So wait a minute, let me just get this straight...." Her green eyes narrowed, as she struggled to make sense of it. "....you're claiming to be a Norse God? And you actually, genuinely believe that's what you are?"

Loki's jaw clenched in irritation. "I am a God. Granted I understand how it must be difficult for your race to accept that we exist, but--"

"My race?" She interjected sharply.

"Yes your race, Midgardians. This is Midgard." He made a sweeping gesture with his hand.

Natasha blinked in disbelief. "Midgardians, by that you mean humans, is that it?"

"Correct."

"And you're from.....another planet? Which basically makes you an alien, right?"

"I'm from another realm, yes. I do however, find the term alien to be rather distasteful and offensive. After all, where I come from you are the ones who are considered aliens. Certainly an inferior species." He explained patiently, in an almost bored voice.

"You prefer being referred to as a God?"

"Yes because that is what I am." He dipped from the waist to give her a mocking little bow. "I am Loki, of Asgard."

She stared at him, her expression unreadable. A long silence ensued. A dense silence that was heavy and oppressive. The only sound to be heard was the gentle lapping of the ocean. When Loki couldn't stand her ominous silence any longer, for once he ignored his pride, and demanded a response from her. That was, after all, the least he deserved after his honest admittance. 

"Won't you say something?"

She'd begun pacing back and forth fretfully, her arms folded at her waist, her gaze fixed on the small trail of footprints her bare feet left in the sand. 

Another awkward minute dragged by, and still no reply came. Loki was incensed. His patience, rapidly dwindling.

"Say something!" He demanded, sounding more desperate than he would've liked.

"What do you expect me to say?" She snapped, just as equally irritated, if not more so. "You actually believe that you're a deity. That's...crazy. Do you have any idea how delusional you sound?"

"You doubt me, Miss Romanoff?"

"Of course I do. If I believed you then that would make me just as crazy as you!" She shook her head, incredulous. 

He forced a humourless laugh, that seemed to get stuck in his throat. "How ironic. I'm the God of lies, and now I'm being honest you don't believe me."

"Okay just stop. Please. All this God talk is utterly ridiculous. Maybe you're some sort of religious nut, but I'm not. And even if I believed in aliens, there's no way I'd buy into your bullshit that you are one."

Loki's dark expression seemed to falter then. His anger gave way to disappointment, and his mournful eyes betrayed a sadness that she found incompressible and unsettling. 

Then a thought occurred to her. Perhaps he suffered with a mental illness.

"Loki..." She stood still, and gave what she hoped he'd perceive as a sympathetic smile. "...if that is actually your name--"

"It is!" He said tersely, hackles rising. Her smile of sympathy inflamed him. He mistook it for pity, naturally presuming that she was patronising him. 

She sighed heavily. "Okay. Well, have you ever heard of grandiose delusional disorder?"

"Yes I am aware of what that is, and no, I do not suffer from an over-inflated sense of worth, power, identity or knowledge."

"You sure about that?" She raised a sardonic brow, which only served to incense him further.

"Quite sure. And I find your insolence deeply insulting, Agent Romanoff."

Natasha rolled her eyes and let out an exasperated exclamation. "You have a literal God complex. If you're not getting help already, then you really need to. But I'm done with this."

She turned to walk away, but Loki reached out and caught hold of her wrist. 

"Let go of me!" She brought up her elbow sharply, intending to hit him, when suddenly a bright golden glow emanated from his very being, shimmering over his body from the top of his ebony hair to the tips of his leather shoes.

Her mouth quite literally fell open at the sight, like a fish out of water, and she froze, her arm poised in mid-strike.

As the ethereal glowing light enveloped his body, his black suit was replaced by elaborate gold and leather armour, and his expensive shoes by buckled leather boots.  
The transformation was over within a matter of seconds, but the impact of having witnessed such an anomaly would remain ingrained in her memory forever. 

His grasp loosened suddenly, causing her to stumble back slightly in delayed shock.

He smiled at her vindictively, as though he gleaned a certain malicious enjoyment from having shook her to her very foundations.

"Now you see me, Natasha."

Raising a trembling hand to her mouth, she stood, stunned, her thoughts reeling.

"Now you can go." He said dismissively, his voice irritatingly calm. "Run away little spider. Run from the big bad God. The monster who parents tell their children about at night."

With that he turned his back to her abruptly, fearing that the emotions that he'd kept tamped down for so long might come gushing forth like a river that had burst it's banks. Years of rejection, feelings of isolation, being treated with cool indifference, failure, disappointment. Shame.

Natasha couldn't be sure how many minutes passed whilst she stood gaping at his broad, leather-clad back, and he remained immobile, lost in his own shambolic thoughts.

This dramatic revelation had thrown her so off-balance, she doubted she'd ever recover. The world, life as she knew it, had been drastically altered forever. This dark, mysterious traveller from another place, had spun her to the point of knocking her completely off her axis. Now nothing would ever be the same again. She found herself questioning everything she thought she'd ever known.  
It was so much to comprehend, too much to take-in, and she really did not know how to even begin dealing with it.

So Natasha did the only thing she could do. The one thing she always did in order to cope with complex issues and emotions.   
She didn't deal with it.  
She simply filed the information away, then buried it....deep.

"Why are you still here?" 

His voice shook her from her thoughts, and she quickly regathered her composure.

"Do you want me to go?" She fired back, answering his question with a question.

His tall frame went visibly rigid. The rock-hard set of his shoulders tensing. "What I want is irrelevant, Miss Romanoff. Now you have learned who I am, what I am, it serves no purpose for you to stay."

"And you don't think that I'd want to know more?" She scoffed, indignantly. "Now I know what you are, I've got even more reason to want to stay."

He half-turned so he could shoot her a petulant look over his shoulder, his one visible eye narrowed. "To satiate your morbid interest?"

"No."

"Do not insult my intelligence. What more would I be to you other than an eccentric curiosity?"

"You're deliberately trying to push me away." She stated flatly. "Why? What is it you're afraid of? That I'll get too close and discover something I don't like?"

Loki snorted rudely, spinning on his heel. As if suddenly too enraged to be still, he began pacing restlessly around in slow, ever-increasing circles.

"Don't flatter yourself, Miss Romanoff. I have never given a damn about being liked. Such sentiment is typical of human idiocy."

Natasha watched him pace, her gaze absently following the almost hypnotic sway of his narrow hips. He was indeed most other-worldly. His exotic beauty, his graceful strength, his magnetism, was lethal. She was completely out of her depth, and yet, not afraid.

"That's racist. But hey, I won't take it personally. I'm sure you didn't mean to offend me." She retorted. "But the point is I don't scare easily. And I definitely don't run away from anything."

His face visibly hardened. "Is that so?"

"Yes. And like I said, I want to know more. I think you owe me that at least. I deserve to know more about the man..." She faltered, quickly correcting herself, even though the words sounded so absurd as they left her mouth. ".....the alien, the...God, I had sex with....twice."

That gave him pause. He halted, turning to face her fully. And suddenly she was struck by how imposing, menacing, magisterial, and wildly beautiful he truly was.

"It alarms you to have given yourself to me." He said accusingly, fixing her with an accusatory stare. "And if I were to disclose further information to you then you would undoubtedly regret having done so even further."

"You would think so. But you don't know me."

"I know you well enough. And rest assured Natasha, if you knew me better then you'd think me just as much a monster as the rest of them."

"The rest of who?" She frowned. "You keep referring to yourself as a monster, but there's nothing monstrous about you."

He barked a sharp, bitter laugh. "As I said, you don't know me well enough. In time you shall, but I am not inclined to reveal all of those future horrors to you."

"Do you want me to think badly of you?"

She didn't expect him to answer that. Loki was far too aloof. And even if he did, she didn't expect him to answer honestly. Surely that would make him too vulnerable, exposed. And she got that 

So when he growled a reply, it took her completely by surprise....

"No."

She held his stormy gaze, and felt an unspoken recognition pass between them. They held a connection, somehow, and unbelievably it appeared he thought enough of her to care for her good opinion, in spite of all his bravado. 

God of Lies.

The knowledge that he cared, caused a restless yearning deep beneath her breast. Unexpectedly, they'd accidentally developed a most unlikely bond, a rapport, that was so intimate. So exciting. So strange. And so wrong.   
Aside from their most baser instincts and the overpowering physical attraction, they were linked by feelings of regret, remorse and shame.   
Natasha had made her peace with all of the terrible deeds she had done in her young life. Or st least she had thought so. Now she wasn't so sure.

Her gaze flickered away from his grave face, lowering to the ground. "I've done things I'm not proud of too."

"I know." He said gently.

She swallowed. Of course he knew. She wasn't entirely sure how, but she wasn't about to question him on the matter. Not wanting to open a veritable pandora's box.

"The thing is, Loki, we do what we need to in order to survive. I think that's one thing we have in common. Nothing you can say will shock me, or make me think any less of you."

She raised her eyes and he immediately looked away, reluctant to acknowledge the similarities they shared. He'd become guarded again. Haughty even.   
Her anger spiked, and she retaliated by wanting to vex him. Loki was proud and stubborn, much like herself, but however Godly he may be, she knew a sure fire way of antagonising him. She'd have to take a shot at wounding his vanity in order to chip away at the wall he'd built around himself.

"Well, I guess I'll have no way of knowing just how unlike other men you really are until I find myself a regular guy." She remarked dryly, relishing the way his head snapped round to glower at her.

She managed to bite back a gratifying smile, and casually pretended to study her fingernails, which was difficult to do now it was growing dark.

"What do you mean by that?" He grated, his gaze darkening.

She shrugged nonchalantly. "This is going nowhere, right?"

"This? Explain to me precisely what 'this' is?"

"Us."

His face creased with undeniable discomfort. "Let us be clear on the matter, Miss Romanoff. There is no us."

For some inexplicable reason his words cleaved through her like a blade, drawing blood. She'd gotten more than she bargained for there, by playing down their fling or whatever it was. His cruel retort hurt more than any physical assault ever had. Now she wanted to hurt him even more in return. 

"Just as I thought. So.....I guess this is it then. Too bad I won't see you around. I won't be able to let you know whether you fuck any better than an idiotic human."

"I beg your pardon?"

Her forest green eyes held his changeling ones unwaveringly, feigning an innocence that she'd carefully cultivated since childhood, and had now perfected.

"What? I won't know for sure will I, until I have something to compare it to."

The implication of her words temporarily robbed him of speech. His eyes became emblazoned with fury, his mouth set in a grim line. He radiated pure outrage.

"You dare imply that you intend to....to compare a Prince of Asgard with another man? And a mere mortal at that?" He ground the words out, as if finding them just as distasteful as her crude statement.

"Oh I'm not implying, your highness." She used his title mockingly, riling him even further. "It's a promise. What do you expect me to do, live a life of celibacy after you return to your world? Surely even you're not conceited enough to think I won't find a new lover--"

"By the nines you will not!" To his annoyance, she didn't so much as flinch at the drastic raising of his voice.

Natasha had scarcely blinked when suddenly he was right in front of her, crowding her body with his. Any other woman would have been frightened, especially given the fact that he had now revealed himself to be a wildly powerful being.

But Natasha Romanoff was unshakable.

"And how do you suppose you're going to stop me?" She challenged, tilting her chin upwards in defiance. "More to the point, why would you even want to?"

"Stop you? I'll kill you first before I allow you to give yourself to another, do you understand?" His voice was now a harsh whisper. The possessiveness he felt towards her was unraveling his mind, overriding all rational thought.

Damnable woman. Why wasn't that enough to shake her? To crumble that stoical composure? How dare she insult him. Provoke him. And not shrink back in fear, instead she had the gall to look at him in a way which implied she wanted to be kissed.

She gazed up into his handsome face, her mouth slightly open. "No actually. I don't understand. Sorry I'm just a slow-witted human. You'll have to explain it to me."

His hand went to her hair, his fingers coiling around the silky, flaming locks. Then he tugged, yanking her head back, exposing her throat and forcing her to hold his intrusive gaze. To his satisfaction, she inhaled in a soft, shuddering gush, and he enjoyed the way her full breasts swelled against the neckline of her dress as she breathed.

"You're mine now, Natasha. And mine alone." He rasped.

Then he bent his head and claimed her full mouth with his, kissing her with a slow, penetrating dominance. He held nothing back, pushing her lips apart and flooding her mouth with his tongue. She tasted exquisite. The way she kissed, languidly but with incredible sensuous focus, drove him wild with desire.

She had not attempted to push him away as he'd expected her to. He broke the kiss with a ragged, hissing breath. "So you truly do not fear the wicked Loki? The monstrous demigod?"

Even in the dark she was visibly flushed, her mouth open but there was no response. Just her panting breath.

Frustrated and painfully aroused, he slammed her to the ground violently. She gave a yelp of protest as she landed flat on her back in the sand, the sudden impact almost winding her. But his barely leashed sexual aggression created a flooding river of heat to flow through her responsive body. And as he came down atop of her, a nervous flutter grew in her belly and caused her breath to quicken. She drew in his luxurious scent, breathing through the layers of clean masculine skin, cinnamon spice and leather. Then beneath all that lay the intrinsic base notes that were simply....him.   
It was potent, intoxicating, and impossible to resist. Though she did try.

"No." She gasped, in a feeble attempt to discourage him.

"No?" He didn't sound disgruntled or surprised, but rather amused. His voice was gilded with malicious mirth, as though he found her half-hearted plea entertaining.

"I want to know more about you first, ah--!" 

Her words dissolved as Loki took her breasts in a rough, possessive grasp. 

"You're in no position to make demands, Miss Romanoff. I intend to have you whether you surrender to me willingly or not."

Natasha sunk her nails into the back of his neck, pulling him down into her kiss, any objections she may or may not have had, liquified in the heat of his passion.

Sighing harshly at the pleasure of her writhing body under him, he kissed her exactly as he intended to fuck her....  
Deep, rough, and utterly dominating.

Afterwards he wouldn't remember loosening the falls on his leather trousers, or clawing at the neckline of her dress to expose the soft mounds of her breasts.   
He wasn't thinking at all. He was lost to the heat and silken texture of her delicious skin.

"I need to be inside you again." He breathed, mouth open against her throat.

His large hand found it's way beneath her dress, and Natasha was thankful for being lay down. His fiery mouth enveloped each of her nipples in turn, licking, suckling and even gliding his teeth along the sensitive, hardened little points. Meanwhile his fingers had found the slick opening of her sex, and he teased and stroked her clit insistently, causing her legs to tremble in an alarming way.

Her head pushed back into the sand, as the tortuous ache rose to an unbearable height, until the pad of his thumb pressed against the sensitive centre and without warning the tension gave way in an explosive spiral. Her body spasmed, and she cried out for him. Warm lethargy weakened her muscles, and she was too dazed by the aftermath to know how hearing his name leave her lips almost undid him.

Hungrier for her than he'd ever been, Loki forced her trembling legs to spread for him, and held her pinned between the unyielding heat of his body and the soft, silken sand. Grinding the hard length of his cock against the very centre of her, sending rippling waves  of delight from her core to every part of her body, she surrendered to the heady, erotic sensations.

Pushing a hand down between their bodies, Natasha's searching fingers reached for his sex. The heat and texture of it fascinated her. Lengthy, hard and thick, it was an instrument of ultimate pleasure, regardless of who he was or where he came from. Only he, Loki of Asgard, thrilled her and fulfilled her, until she could think of nothing else.  
Until she couldn't think at all.

She was on her back in the warm sand, the balmy night air caressing the areas of her body that were exposed. Her dress was pushed up around her waist, her panties pulled to one side, and then he shoved inside her forcefully, filling her completely.   
The path was slick and easy with her arousal, and he was able to sink into her womanly core, stretching her sheath, with only the slightest pinch of pain. 

Encased in hot, slick, satiny flesh, his body became sealed to hers. His chest heaved as he struggled for breath. Inside he felt molten. Hot and liquid but needy. Drinking the breath from her,  he swallowed her cries as he held her down and pumped fierce, growling like a beast. Radiant pleasure cascaded through her as he bit her shoulders, and throat, and breasts, leaving bruises on her creamy skin no doubt. Marking her territorially as his. 

She was his now. She had to be his. His and no other's. 

"You like this?" He demanded hoarsely. "Do you like being fucked by a God, Natasha? A Frost Giant?"

Natasha moaned instead of being repulsed. Arched into his grip when he expected her to try and push him away.

"M-making love..." She panted, her voice broken due to his relentless thrusting. "....and with y-you, Loki....Just as you are...no titles....and it's enough."

Loki was not prepared for the overwhelming rush of emotion he felt at her acknowledgment. His brittle heart swelled within his chest.

"Say my name." He commanded. He pleaded, desperate to hear it tumbling from her lips once more. "Say that you are mine!"

"Loki." She keened, her hands blindly fisting into his hair. "Oh God, I'm...I'm yours!"

"Natasha....you feel so good. I'm never letting you go....You beautiful little thing."

"Natalia." She whimpered, breathlessly.

"W-what?" 

"It's Natalia." She managed more coherently, with great effort. "My real name....is Natalia."

He clasped her neck and tilted it back for a hard kiss, turning her muscles meltingly soft. "Natalia."

Her heart palpitated unsteadily beneath her breastbone, filling with warmth at hearing him speak her name. Her true name. 

But he was beyond words and beyond conscious thought now. He rode her with unbridled restraint. Rode the enormous wave of his turbulent emotions, his pleasure, his pain. They ground together, the sense of rightness almost unbearable. Her curves seemed tailor-made to his muscles. 

This was where he belonged, deep inside her, where she could surround him and caress him. 

This was where she belonged, wrapped in his arms, his body invading hers, hips pounding against her own in synchronised rhythm.

He filled her emptiness and she welcomed him. Consumed him in her scorching wet, female heat. Natasha's chest tightened and she sobbed against his neck, her tears wetting the dark waves of his hair. Their connection was so profound, it was as though with each thrust her emotions were forced to the surface, laid bare and exposed.

They were both being swept along by the ache, the longing, the burn of frustration, the sweet madness of uninhibited desire. Natasha stared intently into his eyes, knowing intuitively that they would reflect back what she was feeling. Loki resisted at first, but she took his face in her hand, cupping his chin and holding it in place.   
It was enough to see what was in his eyes.   
Desperate need. For her.   
She had never seen the likes of anything so intensely passionate before, but she had felt it...Her own yearning for him, and it set her on fire.

Sobbing his name, she arched into him, and her body and soul surrendered everything.   
Wrapping her legs around his furiously hammering hips, she also locked her arms around his neck and held him to her tightly, as the world fell down around her, exploding in a luxurious, shattering burst.  
Natasha seized and gripped him almost painfully as her release hit.  
Loki's mouth covered her scream, as he slammed into her sharply, driving deep, and came in a violent  frenzy.  
Low animalistic growls rumbled from his chest as his seed shot deep inside her core.  
The glorious shudders lasted seemingly forever, rippling pleasure echoing through them both. 

For long, blissful minutes he remained atop her, his head beside hers, her inner thighs cradling his hips.

"Perhaps this is how it should be." He muttered, tenderly nuzzling his nose against her neck. "You and I.....Us."

Natasha closed her eyes to cope with the enormity of what she felt. Of what her traitorous heart was whispering to her. Taunting her with childish ideals of a love that could never be. A love she would never possess. Love was not for the likes of her. No matter how much she found herself secretly longing for it.

"No." She replied softly, holding him tighter to her, wanting to absorb his very essence and never let go. "I wish it could be that simple."

"Yes." Loki agreed bleakly. "So do I."


	10. Chapter 10

"So, when are you going back?" Natasha asked casually, for want of something better to say. But she immediately wished she hadn't, fearing that her polite enquiry sounded almost desperately needy. 

Loki's body twitched almost imperceptibly with discomfort. "If you mean home, to Asgard, well....I don't plan to return there anytime soon."

A long silence ensued. Save for the soft unrelenting sound of the lapping waves against the shoreline, the world was serene and blissfully tranquil and silent around them.

They were lay on the sand, Loki flat on his back after having rearranged his clothing accordingly, and Natasha on her side, her clothing still very much in disarray. The cool leather of his armour felt soft and cool against her bare breasts, as she lay with her small body curled against him, drawn by the heat of his own body. He'd wrapped a protective arm around her absently, and her head had somehow come to rest on his chest without her even noticing.

"Do you know where you'll go?" She enquired with genuine interest, rather than ask why he didn't want to return to his own world. It wasn't her place to ask, regardless of how alarmingly comfortable they were becoming with one another.

"No." He replied calmly. "I haven't as yet given it much consideration. What about you? What are you going to do now?"

She sighed and closed her eyes, wanting to lose herself in the surreality of the moment rather than let harsh reality set-in. "I have no idea. I guess I will have to go back. There's nothing else I can do."

"Nonsense. There's always an alternative in any given situation."

"Oh yeah? Like what exactly? This is my life, it's what I was made for."

"What, this?" He gave her a small squeeze to emphasise his point, and to his surprise she laughed, which made him feel oddly gratified.

"Far from it. This is the sort of thing I've never been prepared for. Going from one mission to the next, taking out one target after another. That's my life. Not..." She paused, searching for the right words but there didn't seem to be any. "Well, whatever this is."

"You astound me, Miss Romanoff. A beautiful young woman like yourself, I would have thought you'd be well accustomed to romantic trysts."

Natasha snickered. "Romantic trysts? Um, no. They don't approve of that kind of thing. We're trained for one purpose only. They tell me who and where, and I just go. No questions asked."

"And who are 'they' exactly? The KGB?"

She stiffened slightly in his arms. "How did you know? Did you go through my phone? Or is it part of your godly magic to know everything about everyone?"

It was then his turn to laugh, and she felt it as a deep rumble through his chest. "Hardly. It's more of a freakish coincidence my having already learned so much about you."

Natasha sat up, placing a hand on his chest and gazed down at him quizzically. Her large moss-green eyes were filled with curious interest. "I'm not a big believer in coincidence. But then again I wasn't a big believer in gods and monsters, myths and magic, until you showed up."

Loki held her gaze with unwavering focus, the blossoming look of adoration in her eyes caused a deeply unsettling stirring in his chest. One that made him ache for more of this. Intimacy. A connection, a chemistry. And it wasn't entirely unpleasant. On the contrary, this closeness felt alarmingly good. Natural even.

"If it's any consolation Miss Romanoff, you've similarly shattered some of my own beliefs."

"Oh really. Such as?"

His mouth flexed in amusement. "Such as all humans being intolerable. Prior to my becoming more intimately acquainted with you I had thought I'd think less of myself for fraternising with someone who belonged to an inferior race."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, but she smiled. "As insulting as that is I guess I should be flattered."

"You ought to be." Loki's grin waned slightly as he continued to hold her gaze, and his tone become more serious. "Perhaps I was too hasty to judge you. Our previous encounter had led me to form an opinion without having fully considered that I knew your story, but I didn't know you."

She stared at him for several long seconds before finally responding. "Do you have anywhere to stay?"

He shook his head. "No. But money is no object, so I can--"

"How about a deal?" She interrupted, placing the pad of her finger against his lips to quiet him. "You can share my bungalow.....if you tell me more."

He raised one dark, elegant brow. "More about what?"

"About you and where you're from. You're pretty damn intriguing, Loki of Asgard. I want to know everything."

His aqua eyes darkened as they held hers, and when he spoke the sensual tone of his voice caused a cluster of tingles to wriggle their way down her spine. 

"And what else am I entitled to, along with the use of your accommodation?" His hand idly caressed her breast, his fingertip tracing lazily around the circle of her nipple.

She stifled a small gasp, and Loki saw her pupils dilate, felt her breathing quicken, so her reply came as a breathless rasp.

"Anything you want."

"Anything? Sounds promising. Even the use of your shower?"

She grinned. "Maybe I can be persuaded."

"I'm nothing if not persuasive, Miss Romanoff."

"Don't I know it." Sitting up fully she readjusted her dress, tucking her breasts away before rising to stand. "Shall we then?" Natasha held out her hand, prompting him to rise.

He obligingly took her hand and stood. Then to her surprise he didn't let go, as they made their way back along the beach. Even once they reached the resort, he did not relinquish the possessive grip on her hand. And she didn't dislike it.

Inwardly she scolded herself for being so damn susceptible to Loki's charms. But she realised for some peculiar reason, she found it all too easy to stroll along hand-in-hand with him. In fact, feeling relaxed and at ease with him was the easy part. Overcoming the myriad of difficult emotions that their easiness evoked, was proving to be more challenging.

"Are you hungry?" She asked, as they drew level with a row of eateries, the smell of various mouth-watering spices wafting out onto the street.

"Ravenous." Loki concurred, eyeing the nearest restaurant keenly. "May I buy you dinner, Miss Romanoff?"

Unable to think of a clever retort, she had to settle for replying with a simple, "Sure."

The restaurant had large windows which were set slightly higher than street level, and was illuminated outside with soft pink and green lighting. They found a table in the outdoor eating area, Loki pulling a chair out for her in a very gentlemanly manner.

"I think you lied when you said you'd lied about being a gentleman." Natasha noted, as he sat himself opposite her.

"Perhaps I'm an ungentlemanly gentleman." He smirked, taking two menus and handing her one. "I was conditioned to be polite and courteous from childhood. Like any member of a royal household. However there are certain aspects of my nature that are considered grossly unacceptable for a prince of Asgard."

"I think that's putting it mildly." Fiddling with her hair, she self-consciously checked for any remnants of sand in her sex-tousled curls. "You dispatched our friend Comineza without so much as a flinch. Is it a regular thing for you?"

Reclining leisurely in his chair, Loki's smirk grew more sinister. And even more devastating. It had a rather startling effect on Natasha, adding to her already confused state. He seemed more attractive to her than ever.   
So commanding, and confident, all long muscled limbs and coiled strength, he was every inch the aristocrat. She could see it in every angle of his body. And intertwined amongst the magnificence of his physical presence was a darkness, a wickedness, which she found inexplicably alluring. 

"I wouldn't say I make a habit of killing, Miss Romanoff, but when someone stands in my way I think nothing of removing them by whatever means necessary."

She gave a lazy, half-smile. "You're a man without scruples. I like that."

Loki raised his eyes from the menu to meet hers. "You like it now, but in time you may not be so partial to my methods. I only hope that when that time comes, if indeed it does come, you'll be sympathetic and remember the affinity we shared, rather than being appalled by how unscrupulous I can be in order to achieve my goals."

Setting her menu down, Natasha folded her arms on the table. "What makes you think I won't be? I take it you know something that I don't?"

"How very perceptive you are, Miss Romanoff."

"And of course you're not going to tell me?"

"I'm afraid not."

"So what exactly are your goals? Can you at least tell me that much? You can't blame me for being curious."

Leaning on the table with his elbows, he rested his chin on his interlinked hands, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "The acquisition of power. Real power. At whatever the cost."

She stared at him, perplexed. Green eyes narrowed in silent contemplation. "But you're basically a God. Doesn't that make you powerful enough?" She gestured to their surroundings. "You've already got the upper-hand here, in this land of meagre mortal men. What more could you want? Isn't your world grand and Godly enough for you?"

"Indeed it is, but alas I am not respected on Asgard." He said in a clipped tone, before faltering. Unsure of why he had disclosed such a deeply personal thing to her. It left him feeling a little shaken, all the rage and resentment of a thousand years of scorn and rejection that he'd kept tamped down came bubbling to the surface. And yet giving voice to his feelings made him strangely unburdened. So he continued. "If the people won't respect me, then they must fear me."

Natasha remained quiet as she regarded him fully. Some hidden emotions flickered fleetingly across his handsome visage, and his clever eyes had now taken on a haunted look. Becoming more sorrowful, troubled. They were the eyes of a deep thinker, a tortured soul, someone who had seen too much. Someone who had suffered, and felt too much. Much like herself, she could tell that Loki buried his feelings deep. Deep where they were never intended to be found. His expression was hard to read, but resembled a peculiar combination of vexation and melancholy.

Loki held her penetrative gaze, and felt his pulse involuntarily begin to quicken at the intrusion. It felt as though she were gazing into the very depths of his soul, searching around in the darkness for something. The smallest shaft of light perhaps, to which he was convinced she would not find. Yet still it unnerved him, having her peer into them in such a way made him feel vulnerable and exposed. For it was his eyes that often betrayed him. Behind them was where his deepest fears lurked and his demons hid. Demons that were never meant to open their eyes.

"I don't fear you. So where does that leave us?" She said with sincerity, shattering the intense silence.

Her response was not the one he had been expecting. She was as unpredictable as himself, Loki realised. All one could do was expect the unexpected when dealing with this infuriatingly remarkable woman.

But before he could think of an adequate response, she spoke again, her comment not an afterthought but rather a barbed riposte.

"Oh wait, I'm forgetting, there is no us. Right?" She smiled triumphantly.

He chuckled softly. "Ah, touché  Miss Romanoff."

A waiter arrived then to take their order, bringing their discussion to a timely -- if not temporary -- end, and soon after they were devouring their meals.   
They ate from each other's plates, sharing and sampling the delicious cuisine they had ordered. Natasha shrewdly chose not to return to the previous topic, opting to keep the conversation light instead, and they talked and laughed the whole time, companionably, like lovers. Which felt delightfully natural to them both.

By the time desert arrived, they had drank most of the bottle of wine they'd ordered, and were becoming increasingly tactile and flirtatious with each other. 

Taking a strawberry from her fruit salad, Loki devilishly dipped it in the chocolate sauce from his own desert then leaned across the table toward her. "Can I not tempt you with something naughty but nice, Miss Romanoff?"

She inclined her head. "You're the only man who can. As you well know." Taking a small bite, she felt her cheeks heat as he watched her mouth intently as she chewed. 

Then, picking another strawberry from her plate, she reached across and returned the gesture. Her eyes were glued to him as he took her hand in his, taking the whole strawberry between his teeth. He quickly ate it, then slowly put the tip of her finger into his mouth. She bit her lip, feeling her pulse begin to race, as he watched her closely to see how his actions affected her.

Sexual tension seemed to arc between them like an unseen electrical force field, crackling against Natasha's skin. His overt suggestiveness made her entire body feel more heavy, more languid, and she wouldn't have trusted herself to speak even if they'd still been having an actual conversation. Instead she sat in silence as he nibbled on the tip of her finger, then took it in his mouth, licking the chocolate off sensually in a manner that onlookers would consider obscene.

Not wanting to be outdone and ever competitive, she subtly slipped a foot from her shoe beneath the table, gliding it up and along his trousered leg. Loki's posture became rigid, his face creased with slight discomfort, and she could barely hold his heated gaze as she reached his groin and carefully began rubbing his hardening length teasingly.

"Miss Romanoff, I believe it's time we headed back to your accommodation." He said with authority.

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. "And why's that?"

"Because at present we're still in full public view." His voice thickened and deepened. "And I want to fuck you like an animal."

Natasha almost whimpered as a result of his crude proclamation. The growing heat between her legs becoming an unbearably pleasant ache once more, and she felt,decidedly hot and wired as a result of anticipation.

There was no hesitation on her part, and as Loki settled the bill with conjured money, it took enormous effort for her to hide her impatience. Thus was the anomaly that had become them. Despite there being no 'us' the sexual desire, the intimacy they shared, could not be denied.

The short journey from the restaurant to the bungalow passed by in a mutual haze fuelled by wine and lust. Without speaking a word, they held onto each other's hand and practically ran the distance. Their eagerness to be alone and get at each other's bodies, might've been considered almost unseemly.

No sooner had they stepped inside and closed the door, when they were kissing feverishly. Loki pushed her back against the wall with a light thud, hooking her leg over his hip, and she entwined her leg around the back of his thigh. It was a delicious, hungry kiss, full,of heat and passion. She felt his tongue slide against hers. He tasted like strawberries and chocolate, and sugar, and all the reasons why good girls ended up not going to heaven. He tasted like heaven.

After cannoning off the walls and into furniture whilst they haphazardly tore at each other's clothes, Loki threw her quivering, naked body onto the bed.   
Inflamed with passion, he dragged Natasha down the mattress, positioning her before him on all fours, and she gladly yielded to his desires. Kneeling behind, and finding her already wet with need, he claimed her hips in a possessive, painful grip and wasted no time in mounting her. She whimpered as a result of the overwhelming pleasure, as well as the pain, as he entered her like a stallion in heat.

An anguished cry left her dry lips as he began riding her with renewed, unbridled enthusiasm, and the angle of her up-turned ass enabled him to make the absolute most of the new position. Every single movement was accentuated. The sharp thrusts of his long, thick shaft, reached new depths, sending hot sparks of euphoria to each nerve ending, and she greedily pushed back in an attempt to match his rhythm.

The slickness of her sex filled the room with soft, wet sounds with each inward thrust, and Loki delighted  in the erotic noises. Her pert breasts bounced with the force of his movements, and the bed shifted beneath them now that his unyielding need to ravish her body became too overpowering. 

Their frenzied fucking drove Natasha mindless. As though it had become her sole purpose in life to seek-out, and provide him with, pure unadulterated pleasure. 

"Fuck me, Loki!" She keened, her tone irregular due to his relentless pumping. "Yes! Oh God, yes! Fuck me! Don't stop--!"

Her words unleashed his primitive, animalistic desire to really let himself go. His vigour increased rapidly, and then she was coming -- falling apart at the seams, fractured by her sweet, overwhelming release.

Her body convulsed with pleasure. And as her walls tightened around him, she was convinced she could feel every little ridge and detail of his cock as it engorged inside her sex, pulsing with enjoyment.

Natasha's limbs spasmed and turned putty-like, which made her fall forward limply onto her stomach, prompting Loki into bringing the entire weight of his virile body down on top of her.

"I'm not done with you yet." He growled, as he rode her through the final waves of her climax. "You will come for me again, Natalia."

Then his teeth were sinking into her shoulder with vicious precision, and she was unable to escape the pain of his bite. Pressing her face into the sheets to muffle her pained cry, she was certain his incisors had drawn blood. But to her relief the agony he inflicted was only fleeting. His unleashed sexual aggression was so primal, frightening, and incredibly erotic, as he held her pinned in place like a tethered creature, griping her in a feral-way, like an animal does it's mate.

"More." She heard the word as though it came from far away. Spoken by someone else. She was now a slave to the dark, sensual delight of him taking her so wildly, begging for him to never cease.

More still? He thought, uncertainly.   
He had to admire her stamina. Her sexual appetite was proving to be just as hedonistic as his own. And he was only too happy to oblige as he drove himself into her tight, wet channel with bone-shaking thrusts, ruthless and brutal. So fevered and ragged that they hurt Natasha in the most perversely exquisite way.

Just when she thought she'd reached the limits of her endurance, the passionate, animalistic sensuality sent her reeling headlong into another luxurious climax, and this time he quickly follows suit. 

"Fuck! Yes. Natalia--!" Relinquishing the hold he had on her flesh, he choked-out a word for each of his final thrusts, as he came with rabid ferocity, flames engulfing his body, setting it aflame.

Her sex clenched tightly around him as his release surged forth with such intense projection, the force of it unexpectedly made her come again. 

"Ah.....Loki--!"

"Third time's a charm." He husked, the satisfaction audible in his voice. "You wouldn't get that from a mere, mortal man."

"Smug asshole." She retorted, still gasping for breath.

Resting his sweat-slicked face against her perspiring back, she could feel the dull-thudding of his frantic heartbeat reverberate through her trembling body.   
She couldn't breath. She couldn't move. And she didn't want to.

He remained there until his heart rate slowed, and then duly withdrew, rolling over and pulling her into his strong embrace. It felt so good to be held this way, by him. To be cradled in his arms so fiercely yet tenderly, unbalanced her. He held onto her like he wanted to absorb her, until it felt as if he'd become a part of her, until he felt powerless to let go even if he had wanted to or tried.

"Hey, Loki?" She murmured, caressing the arm he had wrapped around her waist. "You know when you said I was yours?"

"Hm, yes?" His voice was low and sleepy, suggesting that he was on the verge of falling asleep.

"Did you....did you mean it?"

Loki buried his face in her hair, the soft curls tickling his nose. "More than anything I've ever said in my entire life. Which, I might add, ought not to be taken lightly, given that I'm over a thousand years old."

Closing her eyes, she smiled contentedly. "But you're also the God of Lies."

"If I'd have said no, that would have been a lie, Natalia. And there's little point in lying to one's self."

Her words squeezed at her heart and she was overcome with a sense of belonging. Such was the perplexing mystification of their evolving relationship. Was this how it felt to be wanted? cherished? Loved? 

And as she lay there, tangled in Loki's long legs, the pair of them wrapped together in twisted sheets, she succumbed to blissful sleepiness. Pressed against the masculine wall of his chest, close to his heart, tucked away from all the horrors of the world. 

Her last thought was how she could easily forget everything else in her life that had come before him.

 

.


	11. Chapter 11

When Natasha woke the following morning, for a split second she had no idea where she was.

The bed she was in was firm but nothing out of the ordinary. Just another hotel bed. That was no surprise. She spent so much of her time travelling the world, going from one mission to the next, she could scarcely remember what her own bed felt like.

But this room, this bed, was different. Different because she was not alone.  
The startling realisation hit her quickly and for a moment she was in shock.  
Who was curled up around her?

Then it all came flooding back. The events of the previous night, and suddenly she was all too aware of the sensation of Loki's lithe body behind her. Well, all around her.  
He felt warm, and solid, and knowing that it was the enigmatic, handsome God, made her breath stick in her throat. 

An actual deity was wrapped around her like he never wanted to let her go.

A quick glance down reaffirmed that she was naked, and tremors of excitement threw her pulse into turmoil at the unfamiliar delight of having a man naked beside her. Though not just any man of course. 

Loki. 

He had a long arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and an even longer leg intertwined with hers. His face was nuzzled into the area between the back of her neck and shoulders, and she could feel him breathing against her. It was all extremely intimate. Nice....exceedingly nice....but undeniably intimate. And she had to admit it was a strangely emotional experience.

Never before had she awoke with a man like this. Until now, she never thought she would, nor particularly wanted to. But Loki's embrace was secure but tender. It felt right somehow. He himself felt so right. Or so her traitorous emotions kept telling her. But Natasha couldn't dwell on that or allow her mind to wander, wondering what it would feel like to wake up next to him like that every morning.  
Would it become boring like most things in life once the novelty had worn off? Perhaps even only after a couple of weeks? Or would it always feel this way?  
She had a feeling she knew, but it wasn't worth thinking about. There was no point pining after what you couldn't have and shouldn't want.  
Simple as that.

So Natasha decided just to enjoy the closeness. Even though there was an undeniable yearning deep inside which she found deeply unsettling.

Loki, who had lay awake longer than herself, had been grateful for knowing nothing for several hours when sleep finally overcame him. The situation, whilst unarguably enjoyable, was causing him a great deal of anxiety.  
The easy familiarity, closeness and intimacy had his thoughts reeling. Battling with sense and reason and emotion, his head, heart and instincts were now like separate countries. Countries at war.

He awoke to find Natasha propped on one elbow, her emerald green eyes devouring his face. 

Smiling a little, he said "Good morning. How long have you been staring at me?"

"Not long enough."

Laughter, mocking, tantalising and real, lit his eyes as he sat up and pulled her to him. "I've been called many things in my time, but beautiful.....seriously?"

Leaning contentedly into his warm chest, Natasha flushed a little. "I didn't think you'd heard. You weren't meant to."

"Obviously."

"Then you shouldn't have faked being asleep, damned trickster! And if you really want to know, yes....seriously."

"I don't know whether to be flattered, appalled, or worried."

An amused smile curled her pillowy lips. "You mean nobody's ever told you before? What's wrong with Asgardian women? Are they blind? Too coy to pay compliments? Or just plain stupid?"

Loki laughed. "Now you do flatter me. Let's just say I'm an acquired taste."

"Then they need to acquire some taste."

"Indeed." He grinned crookedly. "And I ought to compliment you on yours as it's clearly excellent."

His hand drifted slowly over her back whilst she absently twirled a lock of his ebony hair between her fingers. The hair she'd admired as it fanned-out black as ink against the starched linen pillows, along with the long elegant sweep of his spine and the clean sharp set of his jawline. Natasha had memorised each feature in silent appraisal, wanting to remember every little detail forever.

Yes. Loki was beautiful. There was no denying it.

But it wasn't merely the fact that he was aesthetically pleasing, or that he alone had such a devastating effect on her body. It was as if they shared a connection on a much deeper level. And thanks to her inability to control herself around him all boundaries had become blurred.  
Deciding not to dwell on it, she chose to try and forget everything. Just forget the world as she lay in his arms, enjoying the perfect moment.

She was blissfully unaware of how complicated and overwhelming Loki was finding the entire situation. Was his growing regard for her a sign that he was becoming......attached?  
Surely not. If he was then he certainly hadn't anticipated it. 

Damn. 

What the hell had he been thinking? He felt a sudden onset of panic as he replayed the actions and events from the night before. Clearly he hadn't been thinking. Thinking only with a certain part of his male anatomy, which had led to further intimacies other than just the physical kind. Perhaps he was being neurotic, but still.  
Loki had always despised the human race, especially after Thor's involvement with that woman, he had told himself he could never lust after one, let alone become involved. 

Apparently he had been telling himself lies.

Hearing him mutter something inaudible under his breath, Natasha twisted carefully in his arms to look up at him. Running his free hand through his hair and down over his face, she could sense his sudden unease. He looked troubled. His aqua eyes were hazy and had dark circles underneath them, and his skin looked dull in the dim light, his cheeks a little sallow, but his hair was still appallingly good.

"You okay?" She asked.

"What?" His eyes met hers unexpectedly as he glanced down and he immediately recognised her look of enquiry, her small brow furrowing in concern. "Oh, yes. Fine."

She raised a cynical brow, unconvinced. And he couldn't blame her. The lie was utterly unconvincing. His words sounding hollow and half-hearted.  
Sensing she was about to press him further, he decided to silence her by leaning down and attaching his lips to her conveniently exposed nipple. It was a bold move on his part, but she did not protest. Instead she groaned and wrapped an arm around the back of his head, affording him even better access to her breast, so he was able to swirl his tongue around the small nub until it hardened like a pebble.

Well, engaging in some physical intimacy right now would prove to be a welcome distraction he reasoned, naively hoping it would calm all of his unwanted thoughts. Within seconds he was hard and ready for her again, and Natasha's own body was no longer heavy with sleep.  
Her limbs tingled with excitement, anticipation and arousal, as he slipped a large hand downwards and leisurely began caressing between her thighs. 

She gasped, eyes sliding shut as he used his middle finger to tenderly stroke her clit, but when he slid the long digit inside the slick flesh she winced.

Immediately pausing, Loki tilted his head to one side to look at her. "Are you hurting?"

She nodded begrudgingly. "Feeling a little tender, yeah. Hardly surprising really, all things considered."

He hummed sympathetically. "Well I suppose I ought to spare you further pain by refraining from ravishing you again."

She didn't reply, and he also remained silent for several long, agonising moments.  
His self-restraint and consideration for her had temporarily stunned him too. But then suddenly she was administering tantalising caresses with her own hand. The contact was glorious, the tingling sensations so pleasurable, as she curled her fingers around his swelling length.

His body remained motionless, enjoying the effect his withholding had on her. Knowing she was sore as a result of his arduous attentions pleased him, but ordinarily he wouldn't be experiencing guilt or feel responsible for a bed-partners well being. Yet suddenly he was reminded of her mortality, and her Midgardian fragility evoked a strong instinctive desire in him to protect. 

"Patience, Natalia. That's quite enough of that now." He reprimanded, pulling back a little in an attempt to stop her hand movements. "You need to recover."

"Who says we can't still have fun while I'm recovering?" She shot back teasingly, and began moving down his body.

"What are you--? Oh." His black brows shot up comically, as recognition dawned on him.

Natasha trailed sweet kisses along his navel, her sinful lips making their purposeful descent towards his cock. By the nines, this seductive temptress was bound to be his undoing. Though he couldn't have cared less as she lowered further and his mind slowed to a crawl.

She was aware of him watching intently as she brought her face closer, admiring the size and shape of his sex. Although she had been a virgin, Natasha had seen naked men before, which made it all the more daunting having such a well-endowed lover.  
Loki's impressive manhood was thick, lengthy, hard, and without exaggeration, perfectly formed. But admittedly, alarmingly large, which was slightly worrisome as she found herself wondering how the hell she was going to take him in her mouth.

"Natalia....you truly are a very bad girl." He drawled in a low voice, as she carefully took hold of his cock and kissed the tip, which made him jitter uncontrollably. 

Watching his reaction and seeing his facial expressions was amazingly erotic, she found. His breathing quickened, and his lust-filled eyes were glued to hers as he stroked her face tenderly with the back of his hand.

Then Natasha wet her lips with her pink tongue and slowly drew him into her mouth.

"Oh....Shit--!" The contact was electrifying and startling, and Loki found his head lolling back as if even the muscles in his neck had liquified, defeated by the raw pleasure that made all the nerves in his lean thighs and toned stomach spasm.

His reaction and exclamation made Natasha's heart palpitate inexplicably. She was actually quite delighted by his positive response to her sexual exploration. 

Then she felt Loki's lovely long fingers creep to the back of her neck, sliding into her bed-tousled hair until he had a firm grip on the back of her skull. Unable to contain his growing need, he instinctively pushed his length further inside her mouth, which forced her to pull back, spluttering.

"Jesus!" Natasha coughed, eyes watering slightly. "You trying to choke me?"

She was in actual fact embarrassed. But she was also stubborn and determined, as well as prideful. 

"Hardly. You need to ignore your damn gag-reflex." He growled, evidently frustrated. "But if you're not able to--"

His words dissolved into an uncharacteristic whimper, as she accepted the challenge and took him in her mouth once again, refusing to be deterred.  
And her persistence paid-off, as she soon discovered the simple but effective technique of breathing through her nose, and soon his hips were flexing upwards in a shallow rhythm in a way which suggested he was incapable of controlling his own movements.

For the love of Valhalla, he knew he ought not to still be here in her company. He'd lingered far too long already, but suddenly none of his earlier fears seemed like a good enough reason to get up and leave. On the contrary, Loki was exactly where he wanted to be. In a comfortable bed with the exquisite Agent Romanoff, plundering the sweet recesses of her mouth.

Damn this was bad, but felt so sinfully good. 

Drawing back slightly, her voice was a breathless whisper as she asked casually, "Is this good?" Licking and fluttering her tongue over the little ridge of skin on the underside, Loki gasped in reply.

"Oh yes. Exquisitely good--! I'm going to come...."

Filled with renewed determination and encouraged by the sounds her explicit actions drew from him, Natasha sucked and suckled him greedily, wanting to drain him dry.  
And he was thrusting carefully, hands fisting into her hair as he gasped and groaned in appreciation.

Opening her mouth as wide as it would go in order to accommodate as much of him as possible, she looked up at him through her dark eyelashes. He was watching her, mouth slightly open, drawing in shallow, unsteady breaths. Their eyes met and something deep inside her stomach began sending out waves and screams of absolute pleasure.

This was so fucking weird. Weird because the very thought of performing oral sex on a guy had always made her feel sickened. Having a guys dick in her mouth was the absolute epitome of revulsion. And yet....here she was getting incredibly turned on by the intimacy of the moment. Seeing Loki tremble and sweat, his handsome face contorting in pleasure, was deliciously erotic.

Despite being a complete novice, she instinctively knew how to drive him wild. Taking his balls in one hand she rolled them gently, whilst simultaneously using the other to pump at his throbbing shaft.

"Fuck! Yes....don't stop!" He ordered, his voice sounding desperate and out of control.

He was losing control. His pace noticeably quickened and the grasp on her hair tightened as he gathered it in both hands, tugging and twisting it frantically.  
Natasha's lips stretched around his swollen shaft, fingers squeezing and stroking what she couldn't take in her mouth. She felt his entire body go rigid, save for the nerves jumping beneath her touch. And then suddenly she was witnessing his climax hit. 

His jaw flexed, eyes fluttering shut, as he was consumed by explosive ecstasy. Arching upward, back bowing,  a hoarse, guttural cry ripped from Loki's clenched throat. The orgasm tore through his pushing, shuddering body, as he spilled himself inside her. Natasha felt the liquid warmth of his release flooding her mouth and swallowed the bitter-sweet elixir wantonly, savouring every exquisite drop.

Letting go of her hair, he rested one large hand on his forehead as he panted and fought to steady his erratic breaths. He felt shaken and dazed by the sweet spiralling madness, his brain taking much longer than he would've liked to resume it's function.

Sensing that she ought to let him recover, Natasha had carefully withdrawn his slick length from her hot mouth, and crawled back up the bed to lay beside him.  
He was still trembling slightly and staring straight up at the ceiling as if stunned. Judging by his reaction, she'd succeeded in satisfying him, which was undeniably gratifying. In fact he looked more like a man who'd just been given his very first blow-job, rather than a deity that must've had his fair share of action during his incredibly long life.

For once Natasha actually didn't know quite what to say. What she actually wanted to say, was that he was an incredible lover. That in spite of her lack of experience, he was very good at sex. That she found him passionately magnificent, enjoyed his company and hoped that they wouldn't have to part ways anytime soon.  
The idea of them having to go their separate ways made her heart pinch.  
But of course, she wouldn't tell him that. Any of it.

Casually she sat up, smoothed out her hair and said instead. "I think I'll take a shower. Then maybe we could get some breakfast?" 

Loki looked at her, immediately reading the longing and uncertainty in her green eyes, and his heart slammed against his ribs. This was more, so very much more than he had ever expected or hoped for. Yes he had thoroughly enjoyed corrupting her, fucking her senseless, but this....this closeness, this tenderness, felt surprisingly equally wonderful.  
To his horror he realised that he wasn't so devoid of emotion as he would have himself believe, and perhaps he had secretly yearned for this form of closeness from time to time.

His gaze lowered and settled on her lips and his mind wandered to kissing her. Not how it had felt each time he'd kissed her whilst in the throes of passion, but how he wanted to kiss her again. Now. The urge was overwhelming and the shock of it drove the blood from his skin. 

"What's the matter?" She nudged him affectionately with her bare shoulder. "Cat got your tongue?" The wry smile diminished as she registered what his lack of response might signify. "Listen....we don't have to get breakfast. If you want to leave...."

"Why don't I get us breakfast whilst you shower? And then I'll take one myself once we've eaten." He said, seeing as she'd been struggling to complete her sentence. There was a pause as he fought for control, and then he added with a chilly state of impersonal courtesy, "Do you have any preferences, Agent Romanoff?"

She watched closely as he rose and began to dress. The illusion had worn-off his leather armour, so he hastily enchanted it to look like a black suit again. It didn't escape Loki's notice the way in which she marvelled at the shimmering glow of the Asgardian magic he wielded, and the look of uninhibited awe that lit her wide eyes did the oddest things to his insides. No one ever looked at him that way. Certainly no female, and his chest swelled with pride.

"It would appear the cat now has your tongue." He managed to muster his trademark impish grin. "What would you like to eat, Miss Romanoff?"

Prompted, though his grin made her suspicious, she told him airily, "Surprise me. The café bar in the hotel do a neat bagel, but I'm okay with anything as long as it's not deep-fried and swimming in grease."

"Done." He gave a bright smile, which didn't quite meet his eyes.

"After breakfast I'd like you to show me more."

"Have I not shown you enough already?" He smirked.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Funny. You know I mean your magic."

"Do I?" Straightening his tie, he regarded her with a faint look of incredulity. "You have a genuine interest in it?"

She shrugged. "Who wouldn't?"

"Do you always answer a question with a question?" 

"Not always. Do you?" Goaded beyond endurance, she slipped out from beneath the bedsheets and stood naked and unashamed before him. "I told you already, I want to know everything about you."

Loki affixed her with his direct, blue-green stare, trying hard not to be drawn into temptation. She was amazingly attractive, but could also be persistent, tactless and intrusive. Yet he desired her still, and admired her feistiness.

Releasing a sharp breath of pure irritation, he tried to ignore his thrumming pulse as she drew nearer to him. "And you actually meant it?"

Her eyes narrowed, as if she couldn't understand why he was being so dense. "Yes I meant it. In case you hadn't noticed, I have a hard time faking anything with you."

Reaching upwards she threaded her arms around his neck and pulled him down into a limb-melting kiss. His body responded without his minds permission, as he embraced her tightly and kissed her back, allowing himself to delight in the unrestrained affection. And she felt so intensely delicate in his arms that once again he was aware of his own strength, and her mortality was a pleasure. And all the uncertainty he would bury in the vault where he kept all inconvenient feelings and thoughts. Until this romantic game came to a bitter end.

With great effort, Natasha forced herself to break the embrace and headed for the bathroom, leaving Loki hunting for his belt.  
Something felt off. She couldn't exactly put her finger on it, but perhaps she was being paranoid. Never having been in such a situation before, she wasn't sure what to expect, so she convinced herself that her lifestyle and training had made her perpetually suspicious of everyone.

Stepping outside, Loki exhaled a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. A stroll in the early morning air would clear his head, he told himself. There was no need to panic, analyse or overthink. He'd faced greater challenges than this one. Just because he'd never found himself in such a predicament before didn't mean he couldn't handle it.

He made it to the hotel café bar and purchased a breakfast bagel for his new lover, but bought nothing for himself. His appetite had been effected by his churning stomach, which felt like it was twisting into anxious knots.

If his churned-up state hadn't diminished his appetite, then what happened on the way back to the bungalow most definitely would have.

A lone figure, a man -- stocky but not particularly tall -- was slinking around the side of the building. That in itself wouldn't have raised any immediate alarm, but Loki recognised the individual, and his clever eyes widened with shock.

Without pausing to think, Loki cloaked himself with invisibility and used his magic to create a double of himself, but made sure to alter his duplicate's face just enough so that he wouldn't necessarily be recognisable as himself. Then he stood back and watched, as the illusion materialised directly behind the intruder who'd come to disrupt -- albeit unintentionally -- the trickster's newfound paradise.

"You've been assigned a mission, correct?" Loki demanded gruffly.

The man started in surprise, his hand instinctively flying to the concealed gun at his hip. "Who the hell are you?"

"That isn't important." Loki gestured impatiently to the gun the man was now holding awkwardly. "And do put that thing away. I know you're not accustomed to using such a weapon."

"I'll ask you again, who are you? And what do you want?"

"What I want is for you to reconsider what you've been sent here to do." Loki said menacingly. "Natasha Romanoff will be an asset to SHIELD, and in time Fury will undoubtedly agree and be thankful for you recruiting her rather than assassinating her."

Visibly confused, the agent who was well known to Loki, stared at him askance. "It's Natalia Romanova. I'd have thought you'd know that seeing as you seem to know everything else."

Loki held his gaze with a cold, dagger-stare of his own. "Oh you'd be surprised by what I know, Agent Barton. So it would be wise to heed my advice and let the Black Widow live."

With that the illusion abruptly walked away, disappearing around the side of the bungalow and out of Clint Barton's sight.

"Hey! Wait a minute--!" 

The agent known as Hawkeye hastily followed, but the mysterious stranger had promptly vanished, seemingly into thin-air, leaving the man bewildered.

And from nearby Loki looked-on undetected, still pitifully clutching the bagel he was now destined not to give his little spider.

It appeared the fates had decided and it was now out of his hands. 

It was time for him to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey lovely people! I hope you've all enjoyed reading the story so far and thank you all so much for taking the time to read my work/leave comments/feedback etc.. It's greatly appreciated! 
> 
> Now whether or not this is the end of the fic depends entirely on you guys! I can just leave it here, short and sinfully sweet, or continue as I do have a few ideas rattling around in this Loki-obsessed brain of mine. So yeah, please just let me know if you want more, if not I'll quit while I'm ahead! LOL xD


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